


The Grandfather Paradox

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: Zachariah intended for Dean's trip to 1973 to be a closed loop in terms of causality.  He hadn't figured on a pair of monkey wrenches named Gadreel and Castiel.
Relationships: John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Kudos: 4





	1. A Disturbance in the Force

The warehouse was in utter chaos. Dean had slain Abaddon, Crowley, and Metatron in quick succession, and the First Blade rejoiced in the slaughter. But Sam was in his sights now, backed against a wall and unable to run; and from where he lay, wounded by Castiel’s sword, Gadreel feared Dean’s will would succumb to the power of the Mark of Cain, causing him to do the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do. What would become of him then, not even an angel could foresee, but Dean had the potential to become an even greater fiend than Cain had been, just as he could have been the greatest saint of his generation had Heaven and Hell not interfered. Yet Castiel was engaged in fighting off Malachi’s faction and had no way to hold his friend back from the brink of doom.

Gadreel knew he himself was done for. But he had one last chance to redeem himself, to do the thing Dean had asked of him a year ago, and to undo all the harm he and his brothers had wrought in the last forty-plus years.

“Dean!” Sam was calling desperately. “DEAN!”

Dean was wavering, snarling, torn between bloodlust and brotherly love. Yet the Blade was inching higher, ready to strike one more fatal blow.

“NO!” Gadreel cried, exploding the lights, and with one mighty effort both threw himself between Sam and Dean... and threw Dean into the past.

* * *

“But you look in my eyes,” Dean was saying to Azazel, “’cause I’m the one that kills you.”

Castiel already knew how this scene played out and watched unhappily as Azazel stabbed Samuel and broke Deanna’s neck. Even had Castiel not been constrained by orders, the house was warded against angels—probably the demon’s doing—and he had no way to intervene. But he chafed at the doubly-forced inaction, somehow feeling it wrong to stand by and watch while the spiral of destruction involving the Winchester family began this way.

But suddenly, just as Deanna’s spirit fled, another Dean appeared behind Azazel... an older Dean, his mind and soul clouded with darkness, the Mark of Cain pulsing on his arm, and the bloodied First Blade in his upraised hand. Castiel would have gasped audibly had he been in corporeal form. This new Dean swayed a moment, surprised at his new location, giving Azazel just enough time to register the new arrival and turn to face him. But all the new Dean needed to see were Azazel’s yellow eyes. He swung the First Blade with a wild yell, and Samuel’s head went flying.

No demon lesser than Lilith could have survived the First Blade’s stroke. Azazel’s spirit sparked and flickered as Samuel’s body fell; as the two Deans watched, both human and demon died together. And time seemed almost to stop.

Then the older Dean blinked slowly, like one returning from a trance, his mind finally beginning to register what had just happened. Stunned, he dragged his eyes away from his grandfather’s corpse to his right arm, where the Mark stopped pulsing and faded from his skin altogether. His hand trembled, spasmed, and let fall the Blade, which dissolved into nothingness before it could hit the floor. Bewildered and struggling to breathe, the older Dean collapsed to his knees, his head wavering from side to side as he looked around wide-eyed at the house, at Castiel’s Dean, at Deanna, at Samuel.

“Mom?” he asked, his roughened voice somehow still sounding remarkably small and young, his eyes fixed on Samuel’s corpse but not truly seeing it. “D-Dad?” He dragged his gaze up to Castiel’s Dean with an expression of mingled horror and hope as his breath hitched. “S-S-Sammy?!”

And suddenly, with a sigh like a breath of wind, he too faded from existence.

“The hell—” Castiel’s Dean managed before even he was no more, the Colt clattering to the floor as the only sign that he had ever been there.

Castiel barely had time to brace himself before he felt the timeline shift pulling at him as well. Jimmy he let go; he had no immediate need of a vessel, and it would be unkind to keep Jimmy here, where the man would have no way to return to his own timeline should they be separated. Instead, Castiel focused all his energy on anchoring himself to this house until time should stabilize. Something deep down, that same small part of him that questioned orders and yearned to help the Winchesters, told him that he might yet be needed here, that there was something he still needed to do.

But blessed if he knew what or why.

* * *

Henry tumbled through the portal to find himself stumbling onto what looked like a country road. The night was as black as the blacktop beneath his feet—evidently the moon had already set, and the trees mostly obscured the stars—but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could just make out the chromed back end of a black car across the way from him, parked in a gap between trees with a perfect view of the river and bridge. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in sight. So hoping that he hadn’t made a terrible mistake, he sprinted across the road and pounded on the passenger’s window.

Startled, the blonde passenger turned and leaned back, but the dark-haired driver leaned hard against the steering wheel with a wide-eyed exclamation of “POPS?!!”

Henry wrenched open the back passenger door, jumped in, and shut the door behind him before turning back to the couple in the front seat. “John, I’m sorry to interrupt your date like this, but I need your help.”

“Pops, what the hell?!”

“I’ll explain everything, I promise, but we need to leave, now. I may have been followed.”

“By who?”

“Abaddon.”

The girl put a hand on John’s shoulder. “John,” she said gravely. “Don’t argue.”

John frowned, but the motion had given Henry a glimpse of the silver bracelet on the girl’s wrist, adorned with protective silver charms. He looked at her more closely. “You’re a hunter?”

“A what?” John asked.

But the girl nodded and offered her hand. “Mary Campbell.”

“Henry Winchester,” Henry replied and shook hands. “I’m a Man of Letters. Who’s your father, Miss Campbell?”

“Samuel.”

Henry nodded thoughtfully. “So we must be near Lawrence. Good. I’ve worked with your father before, and I expect I’ll need his help again, along with yours and John’s.”

“I’m not sure Lawrence is safe, either. We’ve been tracking another demon—”

“What the hell is going on here?!” John interrupted. “You disappear for fifteen years, and all of a sudden, the night I propose, you turn up talking to my girlfriend about _demons?_ ”

“John, please,” Mary pleaded. “This is serious.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to trust me, son. I can explain on the way, but we really do need to go to the Campbells’ house. Right now.”

John looked at Mary oddly. “Is this what you were trying to tell me, about the things I don’t know about you?”

Mary nodded once sadly. “I love you, and I’m trying to get out. But if Abaddon and Yellow-Eyes meet, there’s no telling what could happen. The whole _world_ could be in danger.”

John angrily started the car and put it in reverse. “I do not know what the hell is going on. But I am taking you home and going back to my place to get a good night’s sleep in the hope I’ll wake up in the morning and discover this whole thing’s been a bad dream.” And with that, he backed onto the road.

“John....”

“Mary, don’t. Just _don’t_ , okay?” John stopped and changed gears. “I love you, but—” Then, as he put his foot back on the accelerator, he glanced in his mirror, uttered a sharp Oriental curse, and floored it.

“What?” Henry and Mary asked at the same time.

“Your friend, Miss Sands, she just appeared out of nowhere—covered in blood!”

Henry felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh, no.”

Mary looked back at him. “Is that....”

Henry nodded. “Abaddon. I don’t know when it happened, m-maybe... on our last case. There were demons at a convent, stealing souls. It seems Abaddon was their leader. I didn’t think Josie’d been in danger, but... maybe while I was knocked out. I’m not sure. All I know is, the night of our final initiation into the Men of Letters, she was already possessed.” He ran a hand over his mouth as he tried to regain his composure. Then he finally recognized the profanity John had used. “John, was that Vietnamese?”

John huffed. “Yes, Pops.”

“John just got back,” Mary explained with evident pride. “He served two years over there in the Marines.”

Henry blinked. “There’s been a _war_ in Vietnam?!”

“Yes!” John exploded. “Where the hell have you been, under a rock?”

“It’s called _time travel_ , son,” Henry shot back. “Will you let me explain?!”

John straightened in surprise. “What?”

“The night I left in ’58, I was going to my initiation. I wasn’t supposed to be gone even overnight; I should have been home by midnight. But Abaddon attacked us, killed most of the elders. Larry Ganem gave me something to keep safe, but I couldn’t get out, so I ran to a lab and... and came here.”

“With a time machine?”

“No. It’s—it’s a spell, ‘Blood leads to blood.’ Didn’t Larry teach you?”

“Mr. Ganem is _dead_ , Pops.”

Henry gasped. “What?”

“The night you left, there was a huge fire in that club on Gaines Street. Everyone died—Mr. Ganem, Mr. Ackers, Mr. Bowen, some guy called Magnus—”

“Magnus? _Albert_ Magnus?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“That was the alias we used when we went undercover. Albertus Magnus was the greatest alchemist of the twelfth century. Somebody must have survived to plant that name in the news story, to let me know something was amiss.”

“All right, so how do we find out who made it?”

“That’s why we need the Campbells’ help. I’m sure Samuel has resources, and I doubt we can make it to Normal tonight.”

John sighed in frustration. “Just so you know, Pops, Mom’s remarried, and I’ve got my own life here in Lawrence. I still don’t know if I buy all this stuff about demons and time travel, but you’ve been gone a long time. So don’t think you can just waltz right back into our lives like nothing’s happened.”

Henry sighed in turn, but sadly. “I can get a hotel if I have to, Sport. But maybe the Campbells can put me up. Samuel and I didn’t completely get along in the past, but perhaps, since you’re marrying his daughter....”

Mary shook her head. “Dad doesn’t like John, either. He doesn’t trust other hunters, but he thinks I’m making a mistake, wanting to marry a civilian.”

“I AM NOT A CIVILIAN!” John yelled.

“No, you’re not,” Henry agreed. “You’re a legacy. You should have become a Man of Letters, like I and my father and his father have been. I was supposed to start passing those things on to you after my initiation was complete. John, I’m sorry. I meant to come home.”

“Pops, just—just stop, okay? Just _stop_.”

Henry sighed again and settled back in his seat miserably. He didn’t dare confess what he thought of most hunters, either, or voice his thought that if John had to marry a hunter, at least he was marrying a Campbell. Mary seemed like a nice enough girl, beautiful but stronger than she looked, and he didn’t want to offend her as much as he had apparently offended John.

The silence lasted until the car pulled into what Henry assumed was the Campbells’ driveway. John stopped but didn’t turn off the engine.

“Son,” Henry said quietly, “you need to come in with us. The house will be warded; I don’t want you out here where Abaddon can get at you.”

With a sigh that was just short of a groan, John put the car in Park and turned off the engine. “Fine.” He pocketed his keys and got out to get the passenger door for Mary.

By the time Mary and Henry had joined John on the sidewalk, however, John’s stance had changed from irritated to wary. And Henry knew why. The night was far too quiet, and he had the sense that something was terribly wrong. John put an arm around Mary’s shoulders and looked around cautiously, and Henry fell in behind the kids, wishing he had a better way to watch their backs.

Mary opened the unlocked door carefully. “Mom? Dad?” she called as they crossed the threshold.

But John’s face grew grave. “Pops, you smell that?”

Henry nodded. “Sulfur—and blood.”

Mary hurried toward the dining room. “Mom? Dad? Dean?” Then she turned toward what was probably the kitchen... and screamed.

John and Henry ran to her, and she threw herself into John’s arms, crying loudly. There was an antique Colt on the floor near the doorway, and both Samuel Campbell and the woman who must have been his wife lay dead on the floor. Mrs. Campbell’s neck appeared to be broken, but Samuel’s headless corpse had been stabbed, and the head lay some feet away, a small pile of sulfur near the mouth.

“What the hell?” John asked quietly, shaken.

“Yellow-Eyes,” Mary sobbed.

“Azazel,” Henry said automatically. He’d never thought he’d need to know the names of the rulers of Hell, but evidently one had escaped.

“He s-said he _liked_ me.”

“When was this?”

“Tonight. We were trying to kill him. Dean said he’d be making a deal with Liddy Walsh, and he was. But Dean missed the shot, and he smoked out.”

“Wait,” John broke in, trying to keep up. “Who’s Dean?”

“Another hunter. He thought Yellow-Eyes was after _you_ for a while.”

“So where is he?”

“I dunno. He was here when I left, talking with Dad.”

Henry swallowed hard and pulled himself together enough to step back a few paces to take in the scene. “Where were they?”

“At the table, most likely.”

There was a chair pushed back against the dining room wall, with scuff marks in front and a few traces of sulfur on the wall behind—it had been pushed back by demonic force against the will of the person sitting in it. Henry walked toward it, thinking aloud. “So Dean was here, and Azazel pinned him to the wall. I’m sure they talked.” He turned. “Then your mother came in and....” He went to examine the stab wound on Samuel’s torso. “No, this wound must be self-inflicted. She would have stabbed him in the back, though without the right knife it would be no use. But he caught her somehow. She tried to escape....”

A sob burst from Mary. “And d-did Dean....”

Henry looked at the gun and picked it up. “This is Samuel Colt’s gun.”

“Dean had it.”

“Then surely he would have tried to use it, if he knows what it can do. No, someone... someone else was here. Someone caught Azazel off guard.”

“Another demon?” John asked.

Henry shook his head. “No, no, demons mutilate; they don’t normally behead.” He looked more closely at Samuel’s neck. “This tissue was cut, not torn. Maybe an angel sword, but angels haven’t walked the earth in centuries, and our lore says they usually stab. I don’t think this was done with a metal blade, either. Maybe... maybe bone, like the First Blade, which could kill a demon, but—but Cain’s not been seen since the Civil War—”

Suddenly his head swam as the enormity of it all overwhelmed him, and he found himself gasping for air as his stomach clenched. A moment later, he was bent over the sink, losing what remained of his dinner. As the heaves subsided, someone rubbed his back and turned on the tap to rinse the vomit down the drain. Henry fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and shakily wiped his mouth, then turned to thank his comforter—and found himself looking at his son’s pale, worried face.

“I meant to come home,” Henry whispered mournfully. “I’m so sorry, John.”

John’s only answer was to pull him into a hug. Henry returned it and tried not to cry.

Then John broke the embrace and stepped back to look Henry in the eye. “So what do we do now?”

Henry turned to Mary. “Does your family have a safe house nearby?”

She sniffled and nodded.

“Does it have a telephone?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go there for tonight. We can call someone to come help... Ed, I guess, and maybe Robert. They’re the closest to us, as I recall. They can arrange a hunter’s funeral for your parents, and maybe they can also help us find the surviving Men of Letters. But if the wards here weren’t enough to stop Azazel, they won’t stop Abaddon, either. She’s a Knight of Hell—incredibly old and incredibly powerful.”

She nodded again. “What about the Colt?”

John picked it up from the counter beside the sink, where Henry had set it without realizing he still had it in his hand. After checking the cylinder, John tucked the gun into his own waistband. “What’s so special about it?”

“It kills anything.”

“Almost anything,” Henry amended. “According to our information, it won’t harm Lucifer or the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and it’s said only the First Blade can kill Cain. But it _ought_ to work against Abaddon.”

John nodded once. “Good enough. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Mary objected, “what about Dean?”

Henry sighed and shook his head. “Either whatever killed Azazel took him, or something happened here tonight that even I don’t understand. Either way, we should let your uncles handle it. As hunters, they’d be better equipped to mount a rescue than we are—assuming Dean needs rescuing.”

John frowned. “Pops, I’m a _Marine_.”

“And as such, you’re trained to fight against humans. But until we know what killed Azazel, where it went, or anything more than what we do know right now, we have no way of knowing whether you’d even be able to get close enough to use the Colt.”

John huffed.

Henry put a hand on his shoulder. “ _Son._ I want you _safe_.”

An unreadable look crossed John’s face before he sighed and repeated, “Let’s go.”

With a heavy heart, Henry followed the kids back outside. But as he slid into the back seat once more, he sensed something settling over the car... something at once terrible and wonderful, powerful but friendly.

 _Fear not_ , it whispered into his soul.

And suddenly he felt safer than he’d ever felt before in his life.

* * *

Abaddon’s annoyance grew with every step she took in these wretched kitten heels Josie had set aside to wear for her initiation. It was bad enough that that idiot Henry had somehow muffed his spell such that the portal he’d created spit her out in an empty field rather than a room somewhere. She could only assume he’d been in the car that had sped away as soon as she arrived; there hadn’t been time for her to get a good look inside. But whatever relative he’d found—John, most likely, if Josie’s memories were any guide—had stupidly been waiting for him in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night on the new moon. She’d followed the road on foot, but there was absolutely no traffic coming the opposite direction, and there were no houses within sight of the road. That meant no witnesses she could use to find out whether the car had even stayed on this road rather than turning off somewhere.

She kept herself amused by tormenting Josie with memories of how she’d tortured Father Thompson before setting up her demon factory at St. Bonaventure’s. That little adventure in Milton had had a dual purpose, creating quick replacements for Father Thompson’s guinea pigs and luring in Henry and Josie. Abaddon relished Josie’s anguish at the knowledge that she’d been played for a fool—she’d been Abaddon’s target all along. The threat to possess Henry had been a feint, and it had worked like a charm.

Finally, the road reached civilization. Yet even that didn’t yield anything Abaddon could use, at least at first. Most of the houses here at the edge of town, whatever town this was, were already dark, their inhabitants long since gone to bed. She growled and kept walking.

“Hey, baby.”

Abaddon paused and turned her borrowed head to see an intoxicated man sitting on a porch swing at a house a short way ahead, on the far side of the nearest intersection—a crossroads, which she hoped was a good sign. His hair was long and stringy, his beard scraggly, and he probably hadn’t bathed in a week, but he would do for her purpose. She smiled seductively and sashayed over to him.

He leered at her until she came within the range of the porch lights, which allowed him to see the blood on Josie’s dress. His smile faded then. “Hey, you okay?”

“Actually,” she said as she climbed the stairs, “I could use a little help. I mean, I, ah... I’m not hurt, but... it’s something I could... use a man for.” She lowered her eyelids a little as she looked down at him. “If you know what I mean.”

He reeked of alcohol and marijuana, but his mind wasn’t so dull that he couldn’t understand what she wanted him to think she meant. With a low chuckle, he stood. “Well, baby, I’d say you came to the right place.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer, mouth open for a kiss.

She blew part of her smoke into his mouth. “Show me what you’ve seen.”

But his mind revealed next to nothing. He had seen a black Impala drive past, but he didn’t know whose it was or where it was headed. The idiot hadn’t even looked at its license plate. He did, however, show her the date and her location, which was enough to keep her from snarling as she recalled her smoke.

He reeled slightly as he came back to himself. “Whoa. That was trippy. Kinda kinky, too.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? You liked that?”

“Yeah.”

She toyed with the collar of his burnt orange double-knit polyester shirt briefly. “You, ah... you’re not married or anything, are you?”

“Nah. ’S just me.”

“No housemates?”

“Nuh-uh.”

She kissed him, savoring both his reaction and Josie’s revulsion, and left him gasping for breath. “I’d say we can both help each other,” she purred then. “So why don’t we take this inside?”

“Yeah,” he breathed and ushered her into the squalid little house.

As he paused to close and lock the door, she sauntered through the living room, which was littered with beer cans and lighted with strange lamps filled with water and some kind of thicker, brightly-colored fluorescent liquid that oozed and bubbled like lava, and into the kitchen. Despite his slovenly housekeeping elsewhere, her mark had done the dishes that night, and the drain rack held both a steak knife and a good-sized bowl.

“Hey,” he said, coming in behind her. “Bedroom’s this way.”

“I’m afraid playtime will have to wait,” she replied as she turned, then slit his throat, gathered the blood into the bowl, and placed a call.

 _Abby!_ Lilith squealed. _You’ve been gone_ ages _! I missed you._

“Can the cute little girl act, Lilith,” Abaddon snarled. “I was sent to take down the Men of Letters in Illinois in 1958. Now I’ve lost Henry Winchester, and I’m in Nowheresville, Kansas, in 1973. Would you care to explain _why_ I’m in Nowheresville, Kansas, in 1973?”

There was a pause, and then the front door blew open to admit another demon without a host. It entered Abaddon’s victim’s corpse and picked itself up off the floor, eyes black. “So you lost your pretty boy toy, huh, Abaddon?” it drawled.

Abaddon blinked. “Megara?”

“You got it.”

“Why would Lilith send you?”

“Because I want some answers, too.” Megara took a step forward. “Someone just killed my father.”

Abaddon couldn’t suppress a gasp. “Azazel? Azazel’s _dead?_ ”

“And I’m guessing it wasn’t you.”

“No. I didn’t know he’d been here—I didn’t even know he was out of the Pit. What was he doing here?”

“Making deals.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“He got orders.”

Abaddon’s borrowed eyes widened further. “He finally got through to Lucifer?”

“Yep, back in October. Lord Lucifer told him to find a special child. So he’s been making deals with prospective parents, in the hopes some of ’em have six-month-olds in ten years.”

“Ahhh. The blood spell.”

Megara nodded. “Dunno what the hell he was thinking, coming to Lawrence, unless maybe he liked the idea of the brat growing up this close to Stull. But there’s a family of hunters here, the Campbells. I figure maybe they caught up with him. Unless Crowley did something—”

“Did I hear my name?” a British voice interrupted.

Both Megara and Abaddon turned to the black-clad demon who’d just appeared on the other side of the kitchen.

Crowley smirked at Abaddon. “Hello, darling. Love the suit.”

“What are you doing here, salesman?” Abaddon demanded.

“Eavesdropping, if you must know. And I can guarantee this: whatever bumped off Our Fearless Leader, it wasn’t a crossroads demon. Not that I’m _happy_ about Azazel making deals behind my back, but we’ve our orders from Lilith not to interfere.”

Megara frowned. “Who holds those contracts now?”

“I don’t know. And that _is_ the truth. I’ve not seen them myself—I doubt anyone has. It may be they devolve to you or Tom, but more likely, the deal names Azazel alone on our side. I mean, I don’t think he foresaw whatever the hell it was just happened tonight, do you?”

Abaddon tilted her head slightly. “So you don’t know what’s going on, either.”

“No. I’ve heard tell there’s an angel about, but I don’t think that’s the answer.”

Abaddon sighed and turned to Megara. “All right, ditch the idiot and take me to the Campbells. Josie knows the name, so Henry may have tried to contact them. And you can possess one of them to find out what they know about Azazel.”

Megara nodded once and smoked out, hovering near the ceiling.

“Just... one more thing, luv,” Crowley said before Abaddon could leave. “I wouldn’t take up where Azazel left off without checking with Lilith, if I were you. Some of our new fish haven’t even heard of you.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Abaddon returned. “I take what I want. I don’t make deals.” And with that, she followed Megara out of the house.


	2. Stuck in the Middle with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: John's opinions and descriptions of Vietnam are based on things actual vets have said to me in RL.

Castiel hovered over the Winchesters’ car as it sped toward the Campbell safe house, which turned out to be an isolated, run-down farmhouse near Clinton Lake. It was already warded to some degree, but Henry added such wards as the Men of Letters knew while John assessed the state of the weaponry and Mary called her uncles. And Henry’s additions were enough to stop most demons—but only Castiel knew that even they might not be enough to stop Abaddon. So he covered the outside of both house and car in Enochian wards that would, to the best of his knowledge, be enough to at least give the humans time to escape should Abaddon find them again. The Host were still in too much of an uproar for him to be able to tell whether she had picked up Henry’s trail again, but—

_Castiel!_

He cringed. Zachariah.

_Castiel, what do you think you’re doing?_

He took the equivalent of a deep breath and replied, _I’m protecting Michael’s vessels._ And then, before Zachariah could respond, Castiel did something he’d never done before: he closed his mind to the rest of the Host.

The silence, as humans would say, was deafening. He’d never felt so alone, and the immediate pang of regret, of panic, was almost enough to make him change his mind.

“Psst! Castiel!”

Had he been in a vessel, he would have blinked. That was a voice he’d never expected to hear again—and spoken with a vessel’s tongue, no less!

“Psst! Over here!”

It took a moment for Castiel to spot Gabriel beckoning to him from the small building behind the house, which might have been a stable at one point but was now being used for storage. John had parked the car beside it at Henry’s recommendation, to ensure that the car couldn’t be seen from the road.

“C’mere,” Gabriel whispered, waving to Castiel again. “I brought you something.”

Puzzled, Castiel followed him into the building. And there, in a corner, lifeless, lay—

“It’s a replica,” Gabriel said quietly, sensing Castiel’s shock. “Brand new, never been used. It’s all yours. And you’re going to need it, because those muttonheads in there are going to need you.”

Castiel entered the vessel and found it just as Gabriel had said, a perfect duplicate of Jimmy Novak’s body that had never housed a human soul. Well, almost perfect—as he rose, Castiel sensed a ward above his left hip that Jimmy had never borne, one that would hide him from other angels. He frowned at Gabriel in confusion. “Why have you given me this?”

“It was too dangerous not to.”

“What do you mean? Why would I be in danger from the Host?”

Gabriel blinked. “You have no idea what just happened, do you?”

“No.”

“You _can’t_ go home, kiddo. The timeline you left is no more, but the future is _massively_ in flux. The only thing anchoring these changes is you.”

“What about Henry?”

“Now, that? Was not supposed to happen. I don’t know where he was supposed to end up, but the plan had always called for John to die without ever seeing Henry again. The only reason he got dumped out here was that space-time’s been too destabilized for him to go any further. But just the fact that he’s here now is not in and of itself enough to ensure that the changes to the timeline will be permanent.” Gabriel put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You’re the linchpin. You’re the key. Anything happens to you, and the whole thing unravels—maybe to ’58, maybe further back than that. Even I can’t be sure.”

“But why hide me from the Host?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Zach. Has. A plan. And you know how he is when he has a plan.”

Castiel blinked. “Is this plan... not Father’s will, then?”

Gabriel sighed, dropped his hand, and paced away from Castiel. “I used to think it was—hells, we all did. Now... now I’m not so sure.” He stopped walking but didn’t turn back to Castiel. “Azazel’s death is what drew my attention, but I got there before Dean disappeared. The second one. And I saw more of what happened in that timeline than you did.”

“What did happen?”

“You don’t want to know.” Gabriel sighed again and finally turned around. “But this much you should know; it’ll help you fill in most of the blanks on your own. Lilith doesn’t break the final seal. Lilith _is_ the final seal.”

Castiel felt his heart beat faster—a human reaction, but an appropriate one. “Zachariah never told us this.”

“Of course he didn’t. He never wanted you to stop the Apocalypse. He wants it to happen. He wants it all over.”

“And you thought—”

“Look, _nobody_ wants the fighting to stop more than I do. That’s why I ditched. But now I know it doesn’t stop Zach’s way. It doesn’t even stop Sam and Dean’s way. It only gets _worse_.” Gabriel shook his head. “You can’t let it happen, little brother. But you’re on your own here, you and those three in the house. Stick with them. Don’t trust anyone else. Ever.”

“What about you?”

Gabriel held up a hand. “Leave me out of this. It’s up to you and the Winchesters now. And you can handle it—I think. Like I said, not too clear on what happens from here out.”

Castiel frowned. “Aren’t you going to help at all?”

“I didn’t say _that_. If you run into real trouble, you can call, though you’ll have to tell me where you are. You’ll be hidden from me, too. But I’m talking _real_ trouble, the kind you can’t get out of even on a good day with the whole Host for backup. If it’s just Abaddon, you can always run.”

Castiel sighed and nodded. “I understand.” He ran a hand over the white shirt covering the sigil on his side, feeling both bereft because he was cut off this way from his brothers and sisters and loved because one brother had cared enough to hide him this way. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel gave him a tight smile and left.

Castiel took a deep breath and let it out again. So he was on his own. At least he knew where his duty lay.

He hid himself from mortal sight and went back outside to keep watch.

* * *

Metatron stretched as he set down the book he’d just finished, Hunter S. Thompson’s _Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72_ , and glanced at the clock. It wasn’t quite 2 in the morning, which meant he had a long wait ahead until the mail arrived with his latest shipment of new books. He sighed and got up to search his stacks for the next book on his to-read list, Harold Bloom’s _The Anxiety of Influence_.

“Seriously?”

He spun to find Gabriel standing behind his chair and holding _Fear and Loathing_ with two fingers and grimacing, as if he were holding a particularly putrid dead rat.

“Thompson?” Gabriel continued. “ _Seriously?_ You read schlock like this all the live-long?” A burst of flame, and the book was gone. “Oh, and you ditched Heaven to play Great White Father to a bunch of natives? How racist can you get?”

Metatron gulped and grabbed his shotgun. “Don’t come any closer.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, _please_.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“I’m not here for information, bucko. I’m here because you stole my handle.”

“... What?”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the shotgun vanished. Before Metatron could recover, Gabriel had him pinned against the wall, his furious face mere inches from Metatron’s. “Dad’s got _one_ Messenger, kid. Yeah, he speaks through the prophets, and he spoke through Yeshua, but _I_ am his herald. _You_ were only his scribe—and somehow you think now that makes you a better writer than Dad?”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“The back of the book. I’ve read it. Dad’s just issued rewrites, but I _know_ how it ended before. Now, it’s one thing to tell stories, to play in Dad’s sandbox, even to play god for a while in your own little fictional universe. Dad gave humans that right. Hells, I’ve done it myself. It’s called _sub_ -creation. But you’d jump at the chance to take over Dad’s chair, write your own epic fantasy with yourself as the hero and all creation as your pawns, steal Dad’s name and his throne and his glory.”

Metatron couldn’t deny it; he’d been obsessed with the idea ever since the Romantics hit on it. Instead, he shot back, “Wouldn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I haven’t. I can make damn good tricks, but I wouldn’t dare try to make anything from nothing. But you think, just ’cause Dad gave you the base code, it’s yours to tinker with however you want as soon as there’s no one to stop you. Well, newsflash, kid: That doesn’t make you God. That doesn’t even make you Lucifer.” Gabriel manifested his sword. “That? Makes you a _plagiarist_.”

“No, wait—”

But Metatron didn’t get the chance to defend himself. With a snarl, Gabriel plunged his sword straight through Metatron’s heart.

Once the light show died down and Metatron’s lifeless vessel slumped to the floor, Gabriel closed his eyes with a sigh. He hated killing family. But taking out Metatron had stabilized space-time somewhat; the knowledge of the spell to cast down the angels had died with the creep who hadn’t followed orders and had deliberately written that section of the angel tablet in a language no prophet could read. That particular future was gone for good now.

Sighing again, Gabriel took a quick glance through the piles of books cluttering Metatron’s suite. The genuine rarities he sent with a snap to the nearest library with a competent archivist. Then he gathered up everything else, took it outside, and burned Metatron on a pyre of his own tawdry paperbacks.

As an afterthought, before he left, Gabriel placed a blessing of his own over the Two Rivers reservation. The people had acted in good faith; they didn’t deserve any backlash that might result from Metatron’s death.

* * *

Henry startled awake on the dusty couch from a dream he hoped he’d be able to forget to the quiet _snikt_ of metal against metal. He wasn’t sure what time it was—one item on the day’s to-do list was getting his watch reset—but it was still dark out. Yet a glance at the dining room showed him that the source of the noise he’d heard was John sitting at the table, cleaning guns.

With a quiet sigh, Henry got up and walked over to join his son. “Hi.”

John spared him a brief glance before returning his attention to the gun in his hand. “Morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really.” John checked the gun’s barrel one last time before closing it and setting it aside in favor of a knife and whetstone.

Henry nodded and sat down across from John. “I can relate.”

John snorted. “I doubt it.”

Something about that flat statement rankled with Henry, as did the fairly pointed way in which John started sharpening the knife without looking up. “Don’t you take that tone with me, John Eric.”

“What do _you_ know about war? You never served.”

“It was hardly my fault that I didn’t turn 18 until after the war ended. And by the time things heated up in Korea, your mother and I had you. My draft was deferred.”

“You still could have enlisted.”

“I couldn’t abandon my family that way!”

John finally looked up at him. “Oh, you couldn’t abandon your family for your country, but it was okay to abandon us for some _book club?!_ ”

It took a moment of the two of them staring at each other for Henry’s shock to wear off into anger. “My _plan_ ,” he said quietly, “was to learn what I needed in this time, rest long enough to be able to repeat the spell, and then return home to ’58. Clearly, I don’t yet know why that won’t have happened. But until I find out, I will be here for you and Mary, so will you kindly give me a chance?”

After another pause, John dropped both his eyes and his hands with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Pops.”

Henry reached across to squeeze John’s left wrist. “I understand, son. I can’t blame you for being angry that I disappeared without a word. I just....” The words about having a responsibility to protect the knowledge that the Men of Letters safeguarded died in his throat. John wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand them right now. All he knew was that Henry hadn’t come home... and Henry couldn’t look him in the eye and compound that hurt. Not now.

John set down the knife and covered Henry’s hand with his own, rough and callused from hard work and war, as he looked Henry in the eye again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too, son. Me, too.”

John squeezed Henry’s hand a little and let go, and Henry did the same. Then John went back to sharpening the knife, but there was no anger behind it now.

Henry took a deep breath and let it out again. “So catch me up. Your mother’s remarried, you said. You’ve been in the Marines. You live in Lawrence?”

John nodded. “Moved here in ’60. Mom had you declared dead—guess she figured you hadn’t survived the fire on Gaines Street, even though no other bodies were found. Theories were either that or that you’d run off with Miss Sands, which....”

“Well, it’s halfway true.”

John huffed, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“You did graduate?”

“Yeah, but I never liked school all that much. Came out about middle of the class. It was _boring_ , Pops,” John added before Henry could express his disappointment. “And the teachers were stupid. I couldn’t see how it was worth my time. Only things that really held my interest were football and baseball... well, and....”

“Mary?”

John smiled again, the gentle smile of a young man in love. “Yeah. Didn’t like her that much when we first met, but by high school... man, she was something.”

Henry smiled back. “I can tell.”

John huffed again, and his smile turned wry. “Figures the night I ask her to marry me, the roof caves in.”

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Don’t be. Guess it’s better I find out the truth now, this way, than... hell, have some demon show up on our doorstep ten years down the line.”

Henry got a sudden chill, as if something of the kind would have been exactly what happened but for the sudden appearance of Azazel’s killer. “Yes, well,” he said in an attempt to cover. “We can—um—wh-who’s the president?”

John looked at him with one eyebrow raised but allowed the change in subject. “Dick Nixon.”

Henry blinked. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Yup. Lessee, when you left, it was Ike, right?”

“Right.”

“Jack Kennedy followed him, was assassinated in ’63 by a Commie named Oswald. Then Lyndon Johnson was elected once and decided not to run again in ’68. So that left the door open for Nixon. Most people hated the way Johnson micromanaged the war in Vietnam. Not sure Nixon’s way was all that much better, though I think the real fault lies with Congress.” John punctuated that with a particularly vicious swipe across the whetstone. “Johnson’s dead, by the way—died in January, couple days before the war ended.”

“So the war’s over?”

“Yyyyup.” Another vicious swipe and a huff. “You shoulda seen the bugout, Pops—no, on second thought, I’m glad you didn’t. So many people tryin’ to escape South Vietnam, hangin’ on to the airplanes, and the authorized passengers havin’ to stomp on their hands so the planes could take off. We just _left_ them there to get steamrolled by the Vietcong. Then we come home and get screamed at and spit on. And the hell of it is, we could have _won_ the damn war if it hadn’t been for Washington.”

Henry didn’t know what to say but settled for, “I’m sorry, son.”

John shook his head. “Not your fault.”

“Um. Look, why don’t I... right.” Feeling awkward, Henry went into the kitchen and got some coffee going.

John was smiling fondly when he came back to the table. “Thanks, Pops.”

Henry smiled back and decided to backtrack to a potentially safer topic. “So tell me more about Mary.”

“Guess I didn’t know her quite as well as I thought I did, but... hell. She’s smart. She’s sweet. She’s competent. She’s strong.” John’s eyes got a faraway look to them. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

“So you are going to marry her?”

John thought about it for a moment and set down the sharpened knife before focusing on Henry again. “Honestly, Pops... I don’t think I can _not_ marry her. I promised to take her away from all this.” He gestured at the house with his whetstone, taking in the faded wallpaper, walls with bare lath showing, the wards and iron fixtures and the bag of salt that still sat in a corner after having been used to bar the doors and windows. “And now, with her folks dead... who’s she got, her dad’s family?”

Henry chuckled wryly. “Oh, I know the Campbells. They will _not_ be impressed that she wants to leave hunting.”

“So she’s alone. So she _needs_ me. And... y’know, even after last night... I love her. I want to keep her safe. I... I _can’t_ walk away from her, not now. Not like this.”

Henry nodded slowly. “Well, then, for what it’s worth, you have my blessing.”

And there was his little boy’s smile that he loved so well. “Thanks, Pops.”

“Thought the Men o’ Letters di’n’ like hunters,” Mary’s groggy voice interrupted as she shuffled in from the back bedroom.

“Well, in your case, I can make an exception,” Henry replied with a twinkle as both he and John stood.

She chuckled and shuffled over to John for a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“As a matter of fact,” Henry continued, going in to check the coffee, “assuming I stay once we deal with Abaddon—and I do think I will—I’d be happy to teach both of you the ways of the Letters. John, you’re a legacy, as I said, but I see no reason why Mary should be excluded, especially since she already knows hunting lore.”

John frowned. “What does that mean, I’m a ‘legacy’? Legacy of what?”

“You know how some families always send their children to the same college, generation after generation?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, our family is like that with the Men of Letters.”

“Which is?”

“A secret society. We’re preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that man does not understand.”

And as he brought the kids their coffee and started on making breakfast, Henry explained as much as he could about the Letters, their mission, and how they differed from hunters. Mary wasn’t terribly articulate until the first cup of coffee was in her system, but after that, she filled John in on as much of her family’s business as he seemed willing to absorb.

“And you grew up doing this,” John finally repeated, as if he was having trouble picturing her hunting at all.

Mary nodded. “Pretty much my whole life. I might have given some thought to joining the Letters before this, but I’d never met one before last night, and Dad never h-had anything good to say about them.”

Henry sighed. “I’m sorry, Mary. It was thoughtless of me to—”

She shook her head firmly, even as she sniffled and blinked back a tear. “No, please. I... I still want... I mean, this....” She paused with a huff to try to regain her composure. Then she took a deep breath and continued shakily, “It would be my worst nightmare for my children to be raised as hunters.”

John put an arm around her shoulders and rubbed her arm gently. “I can see why. I still wish Pops had said more before he left, but... all the rest of this... I mean, I _get it_ now, Pops. You were trying to protect me.”

Henry nodded slowly. He’d been constrained by the rules for initiates—but would he have told John everything even if he’d been at liberty to do so? On consideration, he probably wouldn’t have, any more than Millie had been willing to allow Johnny to go see scary movies, no matter how ridiculous or fake the monsters were.

“But this Men of Letters thing,” John continued. “I dunno how well I’d do sitting around in a library, but I guess I’m willing to give it a shot, at least for a while. And for Mary... it-it sounds like a way to keep helping people without being on the front lines. Intelligence work, kind of.”

Mary’s eyebrows went up. “Hadn’t thought of it like that.”

The eastern sky had progressed from pink to gold by this point, and the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a car approaching the house.

Mary sniffled again and stood. “That’s Uncle Rob’s car.”

John and Henry also stood and accompanied Mary into the living room as the car stopped and two doors opened and closed. A moment later, someone knocked on the front door, and John opened it to reveal Robert Campbell, looking significantly older and sootier than Henry remembered. Robert nodded once to John before going to Mary and giving her a hug, allowing her to break down again.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” Robert whispered, a tear blazing a fresh trail through the grime on his cheek.

When Mary could speak again, she asked, “Is... is everything....”

“We took care of it. What we could, anyway—I’m sure the family’s lawyers will have something to say about the house and Sam’s civilian business, but if you’d prefer to sell....”

She nodded. “I’ll... I’ll be moving in with John pretty soon anyway, once we get married.”

Robert turned back to John and shook his hand, then finally caught sight of Henry. Startled, he looked at Mary again. “You didn’t tell me you were dating one of _those_ Winchesters.”

“Didn’t know it myself until last night,” John replied with a wry smile aimed at Henry.

“That’s true,” Henry agreed and stepped forward to shake Robert’s hand. “Very sorry about Samuel.”

Robert accepted the handshake but shook his own head. “Should have known the Men of Letters would be mixed up in a hunt this weird.”

“So you don’t know what or who might have killed Azazel?”

“No. Hell, it’s the first time we’ve ever run across something killing a demon by beheading. Makes no sense. Ed might—” Robert broke off and looked around, just then realizing that Ed was still outside. “What the—” He stepped back out on the porch, which allowed Henry to see that Ed was standing at the foot of the stairs and looking around as if watching for something. “Hey!” Robert called to him. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

“Not right now,” Ed replied... in a slow near-drawl, unlike the way Henry remembered him having spoken in the past. “Got a little something to do first.” And as he turned to face the door, his eyes went black, and Robert flew backward against the wall, hard enough to knock him out.

Before Henry could react, Abaddon appeared beside whatever was possessing Ed. And John let out a curse—the Colt was still on the table with the other guns he’d been cleaning.

“Nice place,” Abaddon stated, eyebrows raised in appreciation as she looked over the front of the house. “Enochian warding. Didn’t know you had it in you, Henry.”

Mary shot Henry a confused look, but Henry didn’t know how to react. The wards he’d put up _hadn’t_ been Enochian.

Abaddon slithered closer to the foot of the stairs. “Now, be a good little boy and throw me that box you’re carrying.”

Henry started edging backward toward the table. “Never.”

“Oh. Well, then, I guess I’m just going to have to come in and take it.” She shrieked, shattering the windows and causing cracks to run through the front wall and the foundation, breaking the wards he could see.

But suddenly a man in a trenchcoat stood in the doorway, facing the demons with a short silver sword in his right hand. The sky suddenly darkened, and a flash of lightning revealed the shadows of wings stretching protectively out from between the stranger’s shoulder blades.

Abaddon recoiled. “An angel?!”

“GO!” the stranger—the angel?—called over his shoulder to Henry and the kids.

They didn’t have to be told twice. Finally unfrozen, the three humans ran for the back door, not even pausing to collect the Colt. The demon possessing Ed appeared between them and the car, blocking their escape, but the angel appeared again, and the demon fled before the angel’s sword could make contact. Henry and the kids piled into the car...

... and suddenly found themselves and the car in the parking lot of a mall, with the angel sitting in the back seat with Henry.

“Where the hell are we?” John asked breathlessly.

“Topeka,” the angel answered. “I thought it expedient, and it is on your way.”

“Whoa, wait, what—and who the hell are you?!”

“My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Henry frowned. “Forgive me, Castiel, but... it’s been centuries since angels walked the earth. Why are you here now? And why—why are you with us? What about Mary’s parents?”

Castiel sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got all day.”

“Not... quite. There is something I need to do first, if I may.”

The humans all looked at each other in confusion and shrugged. Taking that as tacit permission, Castiel put his hand flat on each of their chests in turn. Henry gasped as a sharp pain sped around his ribs; John hissed, and Mary let out a pained yelp. Then Castiel touched each of them just above where his hand had been before, and another sharp pain flared up, though this one went no deeper than the skin.

“There,” Castiel stated in apparent relief. “The three of you are now hidden from angels and demons and warded against demonic possession. I am also hidden, and the car is warded. Now it’s safe to talk.”

“You damn well better,” John growled.

And Castiel talked.

* * *

Ed Campbell didn’t have time to kick himself for making such a rookie mistake, forgetting his anti-possession charm and not noticing that one of the clouds of smoke that had been swirling around him in the darkness hadn’t come from Samuel and Deanna’s pyre. He could tell that this demon, Megara, was just hoping he’d react in a way that would give her an excuse to attack Rob or Mary or the Winchesters. So instead, he held himself as still as he could and observed, waiting for Megara to let down her guard long enough for him to take back control and maybe even force her out.

He couldn’t suppress a cringe, however, when the angel disappeared with John Winchester’s car and Abaddon’s scream of frustration nearly caused the house to collapse.

“There weren’t supposed to be angels involved,” Megara stated flatly.

“You’re telling me,” Abaddon shot back.

“So how do we find them again?”

Before Abaddon could answer, Rob stirred... but looking through a demonic filter, Ed could tell Rob wasn’t himself anymore. When the hell it might have happened, Ed couldn’t even begin to guess, but....

“Zachariah,” Abaddon breathed as the angel in Rob stood and straightened.

“Well,” said Zachariah, crossing the porch and coming down the stairs. “That went just _swimmingly_ , didn’t it? You were supposed to _destroy_ the Men of Letters, Abaddon!”

“I did!” Abaddon returned. “Henry will never be able to revive the order on his own.”

“But he is not ‘on his own.’ He still has John _and_ Mary _and_ the box. Now he has Castiel. And you didn’t finish the job before you followed him here.”

“Nobody could have survived!”

“Yet someone did.” Zachariah manifested his sword. “I’m afraid you’ve outlived your usefulness, kid.”

As he lunged at Abaddon, however, she was already moving. The blade struck home at the same moment she grabbed his wrist and spun so that her back was to his body. Thus, the sword rammed through her heart and into Zachariah’s, killing them both. Megara just managed to protect Ed’s eyes before the angel’s grace exploded, leaving only the burned-out shells of a man and a woman piled flat on their backs, pinned together with the angel’s sword.

Man and demon stared at the scene in shock. Then, at the thought that she might well be blamed for both deaths by parties that didn’t believe in fingerprint evidence, Megara swore loudly and fled, leaving Ed to clean up the mess. But Ed was too dumbfounded at losing both of his brothers so quickly, not to mention the rest of it. He couldn’t move, not even to wipe away the tears that were streaming down his face.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when another car pulled in and an unfamiliar man got out of it. “This the Campbell place?” the stranger asked.

Ed finally found his voice. “Sorry?”

“Name’s Elkins. I’m looking for the Campbell family. Somebody in Lawrence said they had a place out here.”

Ed drew a pained breath and nodded. “Yes, you’ve... you’ve come to the right place. But you’re too late to talk to anyone who might have known you were coming.”

Elkins finally spotted the bodies and walked over to Ed. “Your kin?”

“One of them was. Both possessed.”

Elkins gave a sympathetic sigh and squeezed Ed’s shoulder. “Sorry for your loss.”

Ed could only nod.

“Man borrowed a gun from me, said he’d leave it with your family. But I suppose I can wait to look for it until I’ve helped you get these two taken care of.”

Ed nodded again, and Elkins squeezed his shoulder once more and started toward the woodpile.


	3. Reeling in the Years

The car was almost silent as Castiel finished his tale, aside from Mary weeping quietly into John’s shoulder. John looked like he didn’t know whether to cry or kill something. And Henry... was just baffled, though his heart felt like a baseball with the cover knocked off. 

Finally, John shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, as if his voice were protesting being used. “But all this... what guarantee do we have that any of it’s true? How do we know you are who you say you are?”

“You can’t know,” Castiel said simply, reminding Henry of a book he’d never gotten to read to John, _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_. “You can only believe—or not. But I can give you one further token, if I may, if Mary will move aside.”

Mary sniffled and scooted back a little way.

“Thank you,” Castiel told her. Then he reached across the seat to touch a point on John’s right side. “This is where you were wounded.”

John acknowledged the statement with a slight nod.

Castiel put both hands over that spot and pulled, causing John to gasp. “Hold out your hands.”

Bewildered, John held out his hands, cupped together. Castiel moved his own fists over John’s and released a double handful of dull grey shards.

Mary gasped. “Is that _shrapnel_?”

“Yes.” Castiel began sifting through the pile. “Most of the pieces would either have worked their way out on their own or become lodged in places where they could do no significant damage.” Then he pulled out one narrow, jagged piece that looked like a particularly nasty flechette, still bearing a reddish tinge. “But this one would eventually have found your heart. It would not be enough to kill on its own, but the damage it would cause would be enough to put you at risk of a fatal heart attack.” With that, he immolated it, ending that threat to John’s life forever.

There was a stunned pause before Henry asked quietly, “So now that you’ve told us... what do we do? How do we stop it?”

“The future is already changing,” Castiel replied. “Lilith cannot escape from Hell unless the Devil’s Gate is opened, and the only way that will happen is if Meg or some other demon takes up where Azazel left off. Without Lilith, Lucifer’s cage cannot be opened. But I have no way of knowing whether Meg will try again in this generation—the future is still too unsettled to be foreseen.”

Henry shot a worried look at the kids; Mary had accepted the mess of shrapnel from John and was curled against his chest once more. “Well, then... I hate to ask, but... should John and Mary not marry?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, they must wed. Their union was predestined. No effort has been spared to bring them together.”

John’s arms tightened around Mary even as he closed his eyes in evident relief.

“What is imperative,” Castiel continued, “is ensuring that neither John nor Mary can be forced into a deal. For that, we’ll need the assistance of the Men of Letters.”

“How?” John asked. “They’re all dead.”

“Not all. Larry Ganem lives.”

“What?!” the humans all gasped.

“He assumed the identity of the commander of his brother’s infantry unit in the First World War. The other man is dead and was buried under Larry’s name. Larry is now in Lebanon, Kansas, awaiting Henry’s return. He will be able to tell you of a place where you three may dwell in safety until the danger is past.”

“Where in Lebanon?” Henry asked.

Castiel hesitated. “I believe I should come with you. I can give you directions once we reach the town.”

Mary sniffled and wiped her cheek on her shoulder. “We can’t go back to Lawrence, though, can we?”

Castiel shook his head again. “It would be too dangerous. I’m sorry.”

John drew in a deep breath. “I... b-before we go, I need to make a phone call. Shouldn’t take... five minutes.”

“All right,” Castiel allowed. “But your father should go with you.”

Henry nodded. “Let’s go, son.”

John rubbed Mary’s back a little, and she finally sat up again and slid over toward her door. Then John and Henry got out and walked over to a pay phone that stood outside the mall. While Henry kept an eye out for unexpected company, John picked up the phone, put in a few coins, and dialed.

“Mom?”

The question startled Henry—but then he realized it shouldn’t have. Of course John wouldn’t be willing to disappear without at least bidding Millie farewell.

“Hi. ... Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about that. I would have called sooner, but.... Look, Mom, something’s happened. I, um... me and Mary, we’re with Pops. ... I-I know—will you let me finish? ... He’s—he’s fine. It’s complicated. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. ... _Mom!_ ... Something’s _happened_ , and—the three of us, we’re probably gonna have to go into Witness Protection for a while. ... No, ma’am, I don’t. I can’t tell you anything. I’m sorry. I... I just... would you give Mr. Woodson my regrets? ... I-I dunno. I’m sorry. ... Love you, too, Mom. Bye.” John hung up the phone quietly and took a moment to collect himself before stepping out of the booth.

“Mr. Woodson?” Henry asked.

John took a deep breath and let it out again. “He runs a garage there in Lawrence. I... was supposed to have an interview with him on Monday.”

Henry put a comforting hand on John’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, son. I’m proud of you.”

John lost his composure at that, and Henry pulled him into a hug until the sobs subsided.

“Think you’re good to drive now?” Henry asked at last.

John sniffled, nodded, and stepped back, spine ramrod straight—all Marine, all business. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, then. Let’s get out of here.”

Once they were back in the car, John took a moment to have Mary help him get his bearings and plot a course. Then they headed north out of Topeka, past the Nebraska state line, and stopped at the Pawnee County Courthouse so the kids could get married right away. Both of them wept for what might have been, as did Henry, but somehow Castiel’s presence made even their tiny civil ceremony seem divinely blessed.

The detour added an hour or two to the drive time, but they still reached Lebanon in time for a late lunch. After they ate, Castiel gave John directions to a two-story house on the eastern end of town. Here Henry took the lead, marched up to the door, and pushed the doorbell.

The woman who answered the door was indeed Larry’s wife, and she gasped loudly at seeing Henry.

“Afternoon, Meredith,” Henry said with a wry smile. “Is Larry home?”

Meredith drew in a ragged breath and stepped aside, beckoning to the travelers. “Come in. Come in.”

Henry led the way into the living room, where Larry sat in a wingback chair with a white-knuckled grip on its arms, eyes wide but unseeing. “Can it be?” Larry asked quietly. “After all these years... can it be?”

“Hi, Larry,” Henry said with a small smile, stepping up to the chair. “It’s Henry Winchester.”

“Henry....” Larry held up his trembling right hand. “L-let me see you?”

“Sure.” Henry knelt beside the chair and guided Larry’s hand to his cheek, holding still as his mentor’s fingers gingerly swept over his features.

Larry drew a ragged breath and closed his eyes. “Thank God. Thank _God!_ I knew you’d gotten out alive somehow. But—but how? Why, you haven’t aged a day.”

“I would love to tell you all about it, my friend, but we may not have much time.”

“I understand. Do you still have the box?”

“I do.”

“Inside the box is the key to everything the Men of Letters have collected for a thousand years. And the collection’s in the safest place on earth, warded against every evil thing, impervious to any entry except with the key.”

Henry sighed in relief. “Wonderful. How do I get there?”

Larry felt for a notepad on the end table beside his chair, pulled it over to the arm of the chair, and wrote a series of numbers on it. Then he tore off the top page and held it out to Henry, who took it. “Take the key to these coordinates. But you must promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When you get there, throw the key inside, lock the door, and walk away.”

Henry felt himself go pale. “No. I-I can’t do that.”

Larry found Henry’s shoulder without much difficulty. “Henry, listen to me. We cannot let Abaddon have the knowledge that’s stored in that place.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

The others had hung back, but now Castiel, clearly impatient, stepped forward to stand beside Henry. “There is little risk of Abaddon finding us here.”

Larry’s eyes went wide. “Who’s that?”

“This is the angel Castiel,” Henry replied. “He helped me find you.”

Larry nodded slowly, then shook his head decisively. “Little risk is not no risk, Castiel. Abaddon must not get that key.”

“Larry, you don’t understand. My children need protection, training in the ways of the Letters! If this place is so safe, we can stay there—you could even come with us, help us.”

Larry shook his head even more emphatically. “No, no, _no_. It’s too dangerous. This house may be watched—”

With an annoyed huff, Castiel pressed two fingers to the center of Larry’s forehead, sending him instantly into a deep sleep.

Meredith gasped and hurried forward. “What did you do?!”

For answer, Castiel pressed his fingers to the center of her forehead, and she sagged backward into John’s arms, likewise deeply asleep.

“What was that for?” John asked as he and Mary hustled Meredith onto the couch.

“A necessary precaution,” Castiel replied. “They will not remember our visit when they wake. Let’s go.”

“He could have _helped_ us,” Henry protested as he stood.

Castiel stepped closer to Henry, their noses less than an inch apart as the angel’s unblinking blue eyes bored into Henry’s. “ _No one_ must know we were here. _No one_ , not even the staunchest potential ally, can be trusted—not until the plan for John’s children has been stopped. Even those whom demons cannot reach, the other angels could still use against us.”

Mary took a deep breath and said, “So we really are in Witness Protection.”

Castiel took a step backward and turned to her. “After a fashion, yes. Even I am.”

John settled a blanket over Meredith and straightened. “All right, then. Let’s go check out the safest place on earth.”

“I’m sure you two know how to locate coordinates on a map,” Henry said as the travelers started for the door, “but do you have a map that shows latitude and longitude?”

Before John could answer, Castiel said, “Let me see the coordinates.”

Henry dutifully handed over the paper Larry had given him.

“Huh,” said Castiel. “So great was his fear of discovery, I hadn’t thought he would dare to live so close.”

“What do you mean?”

“This place is only a mile outside the city limits, on the other side of town.”

“May I?” Mary asked before taking the paper from Castiel and blinking. “You’re right. Dad once worked a case in this area, and the coordinates were only a few minutes different from these.”

“Sounds like you’re our navigator, then, Cas,” John said, opening the front door.

Castiel paused mid-stride for a second, looking... wistful? “Yes,” he agreed quietly. “I suppose I am.”

“You don’t... mind that nickname?” Mary asked meekly.

And that was definitely the ghost of a fond smile. “No. No, I don’t mind it at all.”

Henry decided to ask questions later and made sure to lock the door behind him on the way out.

With Castiel—Cas—navigating, John drove out of town to a point near what might be an abandoned power plant. Whatever it was stood high on the hill above their destination, a dingy-looking door set in a bricked archway at the bottom of a short flight of stairs.

“Sure doesn’t look like much from outside,” John noted with a frown as they got out of the car.

“Good camouflage,” Mary noted. “If the Men of Letters didn’t want anyone to know this was here, they wouldn’t want it to look like some grand Masonic temple or anything. Just—”

“The cleft of the rock that shadows a dry, thirsty land,” Henry quoted, a little surprised that the analogy had come to mind.

Cas looked surprised, too, but all he said was, “May Father’s hand truly cover us here.”

Henry drew a deep breath and produced the box that had been hiding in his coat pocket for the better part of a day. It took only a couple of tries to get it open, and then he led the kids down the stairs to the door and tried the key in the lock. The space beyond was dark, but John had thought to bring a flashlight, so Henry let him lead the way inside and locate a fuse box. For his own part, Henry wasn’t sure what to make of the little he could see, but the air smelled remarkably fresh for a place that had been closed up for a decade and a half. And Mary seemed to relax a little, just knowing they were in a safe place.

Cas definitely relaxed. “Good, good,” Henry heard him murmur. “Larry was correct. No evil thing can breach these wards. We’ll be safe here.”

John found the main switch just then and turned on the lights, revealing a command center that probably dated from Henry’s father’s time. That didn’t explain the scent of leather and old books that kept tickling Henry’s nose, however, so he proceeded down the staircase and across the central room to a large open doorway, where he found what he could only describe as a slice of heaven on earth: a fabulous, beautiful _library_. He couldn’t suppress a gasp of wonder.

“ _Sweet_ ,” Mary breathed behind him.

“I like this place,” Cas declared, and Henry turned to find the angel looking around with a slight satisfied smile. “It’s orderly.”

“And defensible,” John noted, coming down the stairs to join them. “Think we could survive World War III down here. Just wish it had some windows and a garage.”

Henry frowned a little. “Surely there’s a garage somewhere. It wouldn’t make sense to park on the street, especially if anyone stayed here for any length of time.”

“Guess we ought to try to find it, then, that and a kitchen.”

So the four of them set out on a cursory look through the place, finding not only the kitchen and—after a long search—the garage and its entrance, but also file rooms, laboratories, storage rooms, bedrooms and bathrooms, a laundromat, a gymnasium, and even a firing range. Most of the parking spots in the garage were taken, but there was space enough in the center of the room that John was able to park his car comfortably.

It wasn’t until after supper, cooked from the kitchen’s ample store of non-perishables, that any of the humans realized that they hadn’t brought more with them than the clothes on their backs. And Mary wilted visibly at the thought of having to wear the same clothes for a third day running.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Castiel promised.

Mary nodded and sniffled. “Okay. Thank you.”

Henry ran a hand over his face at the same time John scrubbed wearily at his stubble, and both sighed in unison.

“You kids must be beat,” Henry said. “None of us got much sleep last night. Why don’t we go choose bedrooms?”

The kids nodded, and after clearing the dishes, the Winchesters left Castiel in the kitchen and headed back to the bedroom wing. After a brief examination of each room, John finally decided on the one at the far end of the hall, and Henry offered to take the one at the opposite end just to give the newlyweds some privacy. Mary nodded her acceptance, trudged into the room John had chosen, and paused at the foot of the bed as she finally broke down.

John went to her and pulled her into a comforting hug. “Shh,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.” After a moment of this, he kissed her tenderly.

And something in the air shifted, as if a spell had been activated.

“ _John_ ,” Mary gasped raggedly, desperately.

John kissed her again while her mouth was still open, hungrily, passionately. Her hands scrabbled at his back and finally found purchase on his collar. Henry discreetly pulled the door to—and a moment later, he heard fabric tearing.

Disturbed, Henry started down the hall toward the library. It wasn’t that he minded the kids enjoying their wedding night in the usual fashion, though admittedly he was still adjusting to the idea that his little boy was now a grown, married man. But something more than natural passion was at work here.

“Cupids.”

Henry turned to find Cas walking beside him, looking straight ahead. “I’m sorry?”

“Cupids. They’re—”

“The lowest rank of angels, I know. What about them?”

Cas finally turned that intense gaze of his to meet Henry’s eyes. “As I said, no effort was spared to bring John and Mary together. Their hearts bear a cupid’s mark, linking them together body and soul, will they, nill they. Even if they had tried to break up over the knowledge of Lucifer’s plan, sooner or later they would have reunited, with or without the assistance of the angels.” He glanced over his shoulder briefly. “Only death can part them now.”

Henry ran a hand over his mouth, unsure how to react. If the plotting and engineering went that deep....

“I don’t think they need to know that,” Cas continued, lowering his voice. “They may sense that something about their relationship is forced, but it will be far safer for all concerned if we help them to grow together now.”

Henry sighed. “Yes, you’re probably right.” He paused. “I _can’t_ go home now, can I?”

“No. You would not be able to change the course of the last fifteen years. Too much depends on John having to grow up without you. Even if you should return, you would be killed, if not instantly, then very soon. I’m sorry.”

Henry sighed again, more heavily. “I think I may sleep in the library tonight.”

Castiel gave him a pitying look and touched his forehead. He woke ten hours later in a bed, presumably in the bedroom he’d chosen; there was a shaving kit on the dresser, and the closet was filled with clothes that would fit him.

* * *

Settling in took most of the summer, and not just in terms of dividing chores and decorating spaces. There were boundary questions to be settled, of course, and questions of what the humans could—and should—be doing during their ten-year seclusion. John nearly came to blows with Cas the first time Cas tried to nix a supply run; Mary finally got John to agree to the compromise of taking Cas with him. The next time John wanted to go out, to take Mary on a date in Mankato, Cas neither objected nor let on that he was tagging along as an invisible bodyguard. Henry, meanwhile, had his hands full trying to sort out some kind of abbreviated training curriculum to bring both kids up to speed on the Letters without requiring the ceremonial side that had delayed Henry’s initiation. He also needed to research what secrets had been withheld from him pending his final initiation, any lore that might be useful in continuing to keep the kids off the radar, and anything they might need to know to live safely in the midst of so many powerful treasures.

By August, however, the family had settled into a routine. Weekday mornings were for lectures and discussions, as well as the occasional presentation Henry assigned to the kids. Afternoons John and Mary studied together while Henry did his own research. And after an early supper, at least three days a week, came sparring lessons. John had a great deal to contribute here, given his Marine training, but Mary also taught both men specific combat techniques for fighting various kinds of monsters. Henry found himself learning quite a lot, as well as gaining musculature he’d never known he had.

John and Mary often went to the gym to spar without Henry, though. And it didn’t take long for him to figure out that if one of their sessions went long, they’d switched to... ahem... a very different kind of wrestling style.

Not that Henry minded, of course. More often than not, he wasn’t paying any attention to them while they were down there. After Cas weighed in on a lecture with more information than the Letters or the Campbells had had on a specific subject, Henry set himself the task of recording everything Cas was willing to share—not just about their family, but about _everything_. And Cas seemed glad to have something to do other than standing guard, so the two of them often sat up well past midnight talking. Henry then spent most of his Saturdays at the typewriter, typing up his shorthand notes into a form that later generations could read more easily, and updating his personal journal.

When Henry found himself needing reading glasses shortly before Christmas, Cas confirmed that the years he’d missed were catching up to him. Henry wasn’t sure that was usual, but the Letters’ library didn’t seem to have any information on anyone else becoming stuck in the future and surviving long enough for that sort of thing to happen.

The holidays were hard, for obvious reasons, but by Thanksgiving Mary had begun calling Henry “Papa” (she didn’t like “Pops”) and was willing to accept the fatherly comfort and concern he offered her. John, meanwhile, insisted on decking all the halls on December 1 with Christmas decorations he’d found in a storeroom, and after having watched the family prepare Thanksgiving dinner, Cas surprised them all with a Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. Mary cried and kissed his cheek, which visibly embarrassed him.

All things considered, then, the Winchester family was in about the best shape possible as their new life in the Men of Letters’ fantastic hideaway carried them into 1974. Both John and Mary were absorbing their training well and discovering their aptitudes in the various fields of study that the Letters encouraged, and Henry found himself both reacquainted with his grown son and considering Mary as much his daughter as if she were his own flesh and blood. They were growing; they were healing; they were _happy_.

Then, one evening toward the end of April, John and Mary had worn themselves out in the gym and retired early while Henry sat up talking with Cas in the library. Somewhere around midnight, Henry had just opened his mouth to ask a question when Cas suddenly sat up ramrod straight with a look of deep shock and utter confusion, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance beyond Henry’s shoulder.

“... Wait,” Cas breathed. “It’s... it’s too soon....”

“Cas?” Henry prompted. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Dean.”

It took a second for Henry to place the name of Mary’s hunter friend, the one who’d gone missing the night her parents died. “Dean? He’s here?!”

Cas’ confusion didn’t lessen, though. “In a... way.”

“What do you mean?”

Cas finally turned his eyes back to Henry. “He’s just been conceived.”


	4. Then Came You

Henry stared at Cas for a moment, trying and failing to make sense of what the angel had just said. “Are we talking about the same person?”

“That’s an interesting philosophical question—”

“That we can get into later. Dean. The hunter you brought to the Campbells to investigate Azazel’s plan.”

“Yes.”

“Is... is _my grandson?!_ ” Henry couldn’t figure out how that could be—but now that he thought about it, Cas had always been extremely careful not to reveal the names of John’s children.

Cas nodded. “I didn’t want to influence the choice of names.”

“Well, fine, but—but—John’s eldest, the one you said came back in time to _kill_ Azazel.”

“Yes.”

“Is the same hunter you brought to Lawrence.”

“Yes.”

“And Mary’s pregnant with him _now_ , only you say it’s too early.”

“Yes.”

“How can that be?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on, what God’s doing. And of course his life won’t be the same, even if he had been born on schedule—but I _know_ that soul.” He paused, then added softly, “For I bore it out of Hell.”

Henry slumped back in his seat, mind whirling. “So what does it mean? And... and what do we _do_?”

Cas sighed and shrugged slightly. “I don’t know what it means. As for what to do... I think we’re already doing it. All I know is that I want to protect him, give him what he needs to become the righteous man I know he can be.” His eyes strayed toward John and Mary’s room again, with a look that seemed mingled of fondness and sorrow. “I have no idea what had happened in that distant future, but he deserves far better than the life he would have had.”

With a deep, steadying breath, Henry nodded his agreement. “I can go along with that.” Then he paused and smiled mischievously as something occurred to him. “After all, isn’t spoiling the baby a grandfather’s prerogative?”

And Cas actually smiled.

* * *

By mutual agreement, Cas and Henry didn’t let on that they knew Mary was pregnant when the kids came to breakfast the next morning, or any morning for the next few weeks until the morning sickness hit Mary with a vengeance and she decided to tell Henry and John at the same time. John was both overjoyed and overwhelmed, but Henry laughed and gave Mary a hug. And Cas took the announcement as permission to give in to his instinct to hover, which amused both Mary and John.

Cas had reason to hover, though, and they all knew it. Finding a doctor whom Mary could visit for her prenatal checkups without giving away their location was going to be a challenge, to say nothing of a suitable hospital. John quickly learned that there were no doctors in Lebanon, which annoyed Mary but relieved Henry and Cas. Between the four of them, they finally decided on a clinic in Salina; Mary knew of a hunter there who would be willing for her to use his address on her paperwork. But Cas insisted on being the one to take her to and from every appointment, considering that it was a two-hour drive even if there were no need for evasive maneuvers to ensure that the Impala wasn’t followed. He and John went toe to toe over it a couple of times, but John always backed down in the end.

Apart from that, though, the pregnancy went like clockwork. Henry was never sure how much of that was thanks to Cas, but regardless, January 24, 1975, found the family at the hospital in Salina, welcoming little Dean Miles into the world. Mary looked tired but radiant when the men were finally let in to see her after the delivery, and Dean was healthy and strong in every way. John practically glowed when the nurse placed Dean in his arms. Henry got to hold him next, and Dean got a hand out of his swaddling to wrap around Henry’s finger, which promptly wrapped Henry around Dean’s.

Then Mary said, “Would you like to hold him, Cas?”

Looking both pleased and nervous, Cas nodded. “I would.”

Henry brought Dean to Cas, who took him as gingerly and reverently as if he were the Holy Grail. Angel and child looked deep into each other’s eyes, and Henry watched as the grave ancient warrior’s face softened in love too deep for more than the smallest of smiles.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas whispered.

“Mmmm,” Dean replied.

And if Henry squinted, he could almost make out the edges of Cas’ wings wrapped forward protectively around his grandson.

* * *

Life with Dean brought a host of new challenges. Henry was prepared for some of them, of course; it hadn’t been all that long ago that he’d gone through the fussy nights and dirty diapers and teething troubles with John. And John seemed to realize it, which meant that more of Henry’s evenings were spent having long conversations with John about fatherhood. They and Cas all took turns spelling Mary on overnight diaper duty, which meant that she got more rest than many new mothers—but they were all relieved when Dean was finally old enough to sleep through the night.

Once Dean started walking, though, the adults quickly realized that the bunker was not designed to be child-proof. And keeping up with the boy could be a full-time job. Being physically in his mid-forties, Henry was in better shape than many grandfathers he knew, but some days Dean seemed to be capable of wearing out even Cas. Closing and even locking doors wouldn’t necessarily keep Dean out of harm’s way for long. So in the fall of ’76, John finally located a locking spell that would ward a door against entry by anyone but specific people, and he and Henry used it on the most dangerous rooms for a child while Cas took Mary and Dean to Salina for a checkup. The warding wouldn’t deliver more than a minor shock to anyone else, and it would be easy enough to remove once Dean was old enough to be allowed in those rooms.

Naturally, it was only a day or two later that Henry realized that Dean was being too quiet, went looking for him, and came down a hall just as Dean reached for one of the warded doorknobs. Henry hung back to wait for the shock, which came, and the tears, which... didn’t. Rather, Dean shook his hand and tried again. After the second shock, he frowned and tried again. His eyes narrowed as he studied the knob for a moment.

Then he toddled into an open room nearby, dragged out a chair, climbed up on it, and began systematically testing whether the knob would zap him from _every_ angle or just one.

 _The boy’s a born scientist_ , Henry thought, amused, and leaned against the wall to keep an eye on him.

Up, down, left, right, fast, slow, direct approach, sneak attack, Dean tried everything he could think of, but he couldn’t outsmart that doorknob. Finally, with a frustrated huff, he sat down on the chair and gave the door a long, searching look, seeking some other way beyond it. _Impossible_ was clearly not going to be a concept Dean would accept readily when he wanted something! Before Henry had cause to intervene, however, Dean’s stomach grumbled loudly enough for Henry to hear from several feet away.

Taking that as his cue, Henry pushed off the wall and started toward his grandson. “Hey, buddy,” he called. “Whatcha doing?”

Dean didn’t have much of a vocabulary yet, but that didn’t stop him from telling Henry _all_ about his frustration with this stupid door.

“I see,” Henry replied solemnly. “Sounds like hard work. You hungry?”

Dean brightened at that. “PEESE!”

“Okay. Let’s go get you something to eat.”

Dean held out his arms to be picked up, and Henry happily obliged. And he tried not to let on that he heard Cas put the chair back where it belonged when Dean wasn’t looking.

Not long after that, however, the combination of the bunker’s many risks and Mary’s justified concern about getting Dean enough fresh air and sunshine prompted Cas to begin offering to take Dean outside to play every few days. Mary gratefully accepted, and knowing that Dean would be perfectly safe in the angel’s care, none of the adults thought to ask _where_ Cas was taking Dean to play. Dean always came back tired but happy, healthy, and a little more pink or freckled than he’d been when he left, and that was all that really mattered.

Then one Saturday morning Henry decided he needed some fresh air, too, and offered to go along with Cas and Dean. Dean cheered.

Cas smiled and picked Dean up. “What would you like to see today, Dean?”

“PANDAS!” Dean cried.

Cas chuckled and touched Henry’s forehead—

—and suddenly they were in a bamboo forest, where a mother panda and her two cubs were just coming into a clearing. The animals froze until Cas set down a squirming Dean. Then the cubs squeaked in happy recognition and bounded over to bowl Dean over, and Dean laughed as if reunited with old friends.

“Pandas,” Henry said bemusedly.

Cas looked sheepish. “These are docile.”

“You two come here often?”

“Well... sometimes. We’ve been to Australia to see koalas and Kenya to see giraffes, but the panda cubs are easier to play with. Maybe next year he’ll be old enough for elephants.”

The mother panda looked amused.

“You don’t think John and Mary will mind, do you?”

Henry shook his head and laughed. “Not if we don’t tell them.”

Cas brightened a little.

“But sooner or later he’ll have to learn to play with his own species.”

“I think I can manage that.”

The cubs finally let Dean up, and no sooner had he caught his breath than he began chasing them around the clearing. The mother panda let out a noise that was probably a laugh.

Henry laughed again, too, then looked at Cas more closely. “We are in China, aren’t we?”

Cas nodded.

“That gives me an idea for when he’s a little older....”

So it was that, beginning the following summer, once or twice a week as long as Dean had been behaving himself, Cas and Henry would take him traveling. Sometimes it was a play date—in Uganda, in Tehran, in Tokyo. But sometimes it was a museum tour. They visited the Forbidden City, the Taj Mahal, Red Square, the Great Pyramids, and more. Sometimes Cas located a castle whose owner had no objection to letting Dean run Henry ragged playing pretend all over the grounds. Sometimes they went to one of the great cathedrals so Dean could learn to be quiet and reverent.

And Dean soaked in every bit of it like a sponge. It was impossible to tell how much he’d remember as he grew older, of course, but he was such a bright child, such a fast learner, that Henry knew he wouldn’t be surprised if more of it stuck than one might expect with a child so young.

The truth did eventually come out to John and Mary, once Dean had the vocabulary to tell them all about his day as soon as he got home. They were both too good at putting puzzle pieces together to assume for very long that Dean’s stories were entirely the product of his imagination. But all John said with a sigh was, “I wish you’d told me.”

And Mary, running her fingers through Dean’s hair, asked, “We’re going to have to homeschool when this is over, aren’t we?”

“Probably,” Henry admitted. “But we might have to anyway, and not just because of what he already knows of the supernatural. He’s a bright boy; I don’t know if his peers would be able to keep up with him.”

“He’ll still need a social life.”

“There’s always Little League.”

Dean’s eyes lit up at that.

John noticed. “Think you’d like that, Sport?”

Dean nodded emphatically.

“What do you think you’d play?”

“BASEBALL!”

The adults laughed, and it was John’s turn to ruffle Dean’s hair.

* * *

The chance to join a local sports team was still years in the future, however. And the present still had hazards enough—some of which even Castiel failed to perceive.

By the time Dean was three years old, John had had his fill of only learning lore and basic skills. The knowledge was useless, he argued, if one never did anything with it. He knew Mary’s thoughts on hunting and agreed that at least she and Dean ought to stay out of the life as much as possible, but he could no longer bear to sit idle, knowing the truth but not acting on it to save lives. Finally, Mary got him to agree to the compromise of going through the Men of Letters’ unsolved case files to see which ones could be acted upon safely under their current restrictions.

One of the first cases to attract John’s interest was the disappearance of Dorothy Baum. He and Mary had just reread the _Wizard of Oz_ series to see if Dean might be old enough for it yet, so it took very little time for him to piece together the clues in both the books and James Haggerty’s notes, locate the poppy extract Haggerty had bartered from a fairy, and conclude that the most effective means of delivery would be as a coating on bullets. Castiel watched with interest as Mary helped John prepare the bullets and load them into his gun.

“Now all we gotta do is find the witch,” John stated, sliding the gun back into his waistband.

And suddenly, Castiel alone heard Dean say, “Uh-ohhhhh....”

“Dean’s in danger,” he reported. “Room 28.” And before John or Mary could react, Castiel flew to the lab that none of the adults had thought was a hazard.

Dean sat on the lab floor, toy truck in hand, staring up at a glass bottle on a set of metal shelves. The bottle lay on its side—Castiel quickly realized that Dean had accidentally bumped the shelves hard enough to knock the bottle over—and its greyish-blue contents flashed and pulsed and sloshed against the stopper. Before Castiel understood that the liquid was moving under its own power, it forced the stopper out and began pouring down the wall.

“Uh-ohhhhh,” Dean repeated more worriedly.

Castiel pushed aside the computer that stood in his way, then scooped Dean up off the floor. The little time that took was enough for the liquid to have formed itself into a thick black webbing, and before Castiel could take more than two steps backward, a piercing green light slashed through the web to let a haggard old woman escape... none other than the Wicked Witch of the West of Oz.

Dean gasped and clung to Castiel. His arms too full to manage both Dean and his sword, Castiel drew his wings forward as a shield. Yet he was torn—did he dare take his eyes off the witch long enough to get Dean to safety and risk her escape, or did he try to deal with the witch himself and risk Dean remaining in harm’s way?

For once, however, his hesitation did not prove fatal. He was still edging toward the door while trying to make up his mind when he heard two shots fired from the doorway. The witch fell with a horrible scream and dissolved into smoke, leaving behind only the filthy rags she had worn. Dean buried his face in Castiel’s shoulder, crying and shaking.

And Castiel turned to John, who lowered his smoking gun and hurried to check on his son. “What happened?” John demanded. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Castiel reported. “Frightened, but unharmed.”

“Daddy,” Dean wailed.

John set his gun on the computer and took Dean from Castiel. “Hey. It’s okay, buddy. She’s not gonna hurt you.”

“I didn’t mean to—I knocked it over—”

“Shh. It’s all right, Sport. We didn’t know there was anything bad in here. We’re sorry.”

Mary was right behind John and joined him in rubbing Dean’s back. “It was an accident, Deanie. We’re just glad you didn’t get hurt.”

Henry came in then and, after pausing to rub Dean’s shoulder, went to examine the witch’s remains and the webbing on the wall. He touched the unopened side of the web gingerly, then drew his pocketknife to cut a small opening... and jumped back as a human hand fell into view. “There’s someone else in there!”

Mary grabbed John’s gun, and John pushed Dean back into Castiel’s arms before Castiel could object. Castiel backed into the hallway but watched as Mary kept the gun trained on the webbing while John and Henry carefully enlarged the opening. Then Mary gasped and lowered the gun as a young woman tumbled out, unconscious, into John’s arms.

“Dorothy,” John realized.

“We need to get her to the infirmary,” Henry said.

And with that, the adults bustled past, carrying Dorothy between them and leaving Castiel with a still-sobbing Dean.

Sighing, Castiel rested his cheek on the top of Dean’s head and carried him slowly down to the library. Somehow it felt kinder to walk than to fly in this case. “It’s all right, Dean,” he said softly. “The danger’s past. Fear not.”

Dean gave a sniffly hiccup. “Cas....”

“Shh. I’ve got you.”

“Want Mommy.”

“Your mommy’s busy right now, but she’ll be back in a little while.”

“’M _scared_.”

“I know. But the witch is dead. Your daddy killed her. She won’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.”

Dean’s breath hitched a couple of times. “Y’promise?”

“I promise.” And Castiel drew his wings forward again, knowing that Dean, as a vessel, could sense their nearness.

Dean’s sobs quieted, but he clung to Castiel all the tighter, and he was still sniffling past a few silent tears when they reached the library and sat down in a reading chair. And Castiel, for lack of a better idea, simply held the boy, giving what comfort he was able.

About ten minutes later, Mary finally rushed into the library. “I’m _sorry_ , Cas. We shouldn’t have pushed Dean off on you like that. Guess we were so worried about Dorothy, we forgot.”

Castiel smiled gently. “I understand.”

Dean stirred and looked up at her. “Mommy?”

Mary knelt beside the chair and put a hand on Dean’s back. “Hi, honey.”

Dean finally let go of Castiel’s neck and reached for Mary.

She took him and stood. “How’s my boy? You all right?”

He nodded against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry this happened, Deanie. We really didn’t know there was anything bad in that room.”

He sniffled. “’Sokay, Mommy.”

She kissed his ear and swayed a little as she held him, radiating love in a way only a mother could, and Castiel felt yet another pang of guilt that his garrison could ever have let Azazel sever this bond—all the sharper now that he knew it hadn’t been Father’s will at all.

After a moment, though, Mary said, “Miss Dorothy wants to meet you.”

Dean’s silence spoke for itself.

“Can you come say hello like a big boy?”

“’Kay,” Dean replied, but it was barely audible.

“Cas can come with us.”

“’Kay.”

Castiel nodded to Mary and followed her and Dean into the infirmary. Dorothy was awake, though groggy and confused, and John was in the process of explaining how he’d managed to kill the witch so quickly. Dean half-turned his head to see what was going on.

“’Scuse me, John,” said Mary. “Dorothy, this is our son Dean.”

Dorothy sat forward a little. “Hi, Dean.”

Dean leaned his head forward on Mary’s shoulder but waved a little.

“How old are you?”

Dean held up three fingers.

“Three. Wow. Pretty soon, you’ll be all grown up.”

Dean ducked his head a little more.

“Say, I hear I owe you a thank you.”

Dean frowned a little and turned his head to look at her better.

Dorothy nodded toward John. “Your father says you knocked over that bottle in the lab.”

“It was a accident,” Dean replied quietly.

“Yeah, but you see, I’d been stuck in that bottle with the Wicked Witch for a long time—since your granddaddy was still a little boy.”

Dean’s eyes widened.

“If you hadn’t found me, I might have been stuck in there a whole lot longer. Who knows?”

Dean’s eyes widened further. “Really?”

“Really. You and your dad saved my life. You’re a hero.”

Dean gasped. “Like _Batman?_ ”

After a brief frown of confusion, Dorothy decided to humor him and smiled. “Sure, kid. Like Batman.”

Dean looked at Mary, who smiled and put him down. He immediately toddled over to Dorothy’s bedside. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Dorothy’s smile turned genuinely fond as she put a hand on his head. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“The witch didn’t hurt you?”

“Nah.”

He put both hands on the edge of the bed but couldn’t quite pull himself up onto it, so John gave him a boost. Once he was settled, Dean threw his arms around Dorothy’s neck and gave her a kiss for good measure. She chuckled and hugged him back.

“’M glad you’re okay, Dorfy.”

“Me, too, kid. Me, too.”

After Dean finally went to bed that night, John, Mary, and Henry had a long talk about finding better ways to ensure Dean’s safety. As for Dorothy, however, by the time she had fully recovered and returned to Oz, she was firmly ensconced as Dean’s “Aunt Dorfy” and promised to return to visit as soon as her work in Oz was finished.

* * *

The encounter with Dorothy brought to the fore a tendency Henry thought he had spotted in Dean a few times before, though not quite so strongly: a drive to protect and serve. He’d long seemed to delight in feeding his panda friends, for example, and often stood up to bullies when he played with other children. But once he’d understood that Dorothy had been in danger from the witch, too, his own fears had appeared to take a back seat to wanting to know she was well. He’d asked her several times a day if she was okay, tried to give her food from his own plate at meals, and tagged along with her as if _he_ were keeping an eye on _her_ and not the other way around. Dorothy had seemed unsure whether to find it annoying or endearing until Mary took her aside one day; Henry didn’t know what they’d discussed, but after that, Dorothy had happily taken Dean under her wing.

So it probably shouldn’t have surprised Henry as much as it did to walk into the kitchen one morning a few months later to find a chair pushed up to the stove and Dean struggling with a soup pot.

“Hey, Sport,” Henry said.

“Hi!” Dean chirped, intent on his errand.

“What’s up?”

“Mommy doesn’t feel good. I’monna make her some soup.”

“Oh. Here, why don’t I—” Henry started to reach for the pot.

But Dean shied away. “NO! _I_ ’ll do it, Grandpa!”

“Okay,” Henry allowed, “but can I help?”

Dean set the pot on the chair and considered. “Okay.”

Henry set the pot on the stove and Dean on the chair. “All right, what do we need?”

Dean rattled off ingredients, none of which sounded outlandish, and Henry went and fetched them. Together, grandfather and grandson carefully measured water, rice, salt, and a couple of other spices, and Henry opened cans of tomato sauce while Dean stirred the pot with an air of great concentration. Finally, everything was blended to Dean’s satisfaction and hot through, and Henry took a taste to discover that it was... the exact same soup Mary had made the few times Dean had gotten sick.

“Is it good, Grandpa?” Dean asked.

Henry nodded. “Just like your mom makes.”

Dean beamed.

The dishes were up out of Dean’s reach, so Henry had to be the one to get a bowl and ladle to serve up a helping—generous, but not so generous it would spill en route. While he was doing that, Dean located a bed tray in one of the lower cabinets as well as some soda crackers in the pantry. Once everything was arranged, Henry carried the tray while Dean ran ahead to get the door to John and Mary’s room. John had gone to the store with Cas, so Mary was alone, propped up in bed and looking fairly peaked.

“Hi,” she said, smiling weakly down at Dean.

“I made you some soup, Mommy,” Dean announced. “Grandpa helped.”

Mary smiled but looked up at Henry skeptically.

Henry nodded and set the tray over her lap. “Tomato-rice soup. Just what the doctor ordered.”

Mary raised an eyebrow, picked up the spoon, and took a taste. “Mm!” she exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, Deanie, this is just right!”

Dean glowed. “I got you some crackers, too.”

“You did. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Dean ran around to the other side of the bed and clambered up to sit beside Mary and chatter at her while she ate. After exchanging one last smile with Mary, Henry headed back to the kitchen to put away the leftovers. Dean had followed Mary’s recipe so exactly that there was still a good amount of soup left, but it looked like Mary might need it all. She hadn’t been this sick since...

... since...

Henry froze in mid-stride as the pieces came together with a snap. Mary was pregnant again.

And this time, Cas _hadn’t breathed a word._


	5. I Will Survive

Ever since Dean’s birth, Mary had had trouble becoming pregnant again. Castiel knew that; what he didn’t know was why. The cause appeared to be natural, but it was hidden from him. And while he knew how to heal many wounds and obvious illnesses, the intricacies of the human body—particularly the female—were too unfamiliar for him to feel confident in trying to search out the mystery. So he left it alone for a time.

But then, toward the end of the summer of 1978, John decided to take Mary out for a picnic, only to reach the entrance to the garage and find that it was raining. Mary suggested that they simply stop where they were, still inside the driveway tunnel, and have their picnic on the hood of the car. John agreed, and after the meal and some wine and kisses, they decided to move into the back seat and make love like a couple of teenagers. Since they were well within the bunker’s wards, Castiel left them to it.

Late that night, he sensed the spark of a soul’s conception. He hadn’t known Sam well Before, only observed him in company with Dean, and it had been hard then to see past the taint of demon blood making Sam an abomination. Yet somehow this soul seemed to Castiel to be recognizable still as Sam—and there were already traits about him that Castiel hadn’t seen Before but suspected Dean had always seen and loved.

At the same time, however, Castiel sensed Mary’s body already trying to reject the child.

Here was a dilemma he hadn’t been prepared for. Many among his garrison—Uriel, especially—would most likely advise him to let Sam die. To do so would end the Apocalypse threat for good, at least as far as this family was concerned. But could he allow it in good conscience, knowing that there _was_ good in Sam? On the one hand, if Sam died now, in innocence, he would be assured of Heaven. But on the other hand, there was Dean, who for all his winsomeness seemed somehow incomplete without his brother at his side. The loss would diminish the rest of the family as well.

Still uncertain, Castiel flew into John and Mary’s room for a closer look at the new life. When he entered the room, the tiny soul sensed his approach... and brightened in welcome. He could also sense the child’s determination, a will to live and to fight for life if need be.

No. He couldn’t let Sam die. He would do whatever it took to help this child live and thrive and be what _Dean_ had always known he could be.

So intent was Castiel on shepherding this pregnancy, in fact, that he didn’t realize he’d said nothing about it until he came back from buying supplies with John and a worried Henry cornered him in the kitchen. Castiel sighed, apologized, and explained himself.

That didn’t alleviate Henry’s worry, however. “Why don’t you just heal Mary?”

“I’m not a healer,” Castiel replied. “I don’t know what’s wrong. All I can do is to make sure they both live through it.”

Henry sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he digested that pronouncement. Then he looked at Castiel more closely. “Wait, is—this is the second son? The one Azazel planned to target?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

“So we’re not going to have to stay here for another five years after all.”

“I believe not, no. No one will be expecting Sam to be born in what should have been Dean’s birth year. And he’ll be safe after his six-month birthday anyway. Once that day is past, he cannot be corrupted with demon blood.”

Henry nodded and blew out a breath. “Well, can’t say I’ll be sorry to get into a house with windows again.”

Castiel chuckled.

* * *

That fall, Mary asked Castiel to bring Dean with them to one of her appointments in Salina so that they could go to a park afterward. Castiel agreed, and after taking them to the park, he hid himself and checked for demons in the area. Finding none, he set out on a patrol of the perimeter.

He was on the far side of the park when someone flew straight into him. He recovered from the collision ready to fight... only to find himself face to face with Anna in her true form.

“Castiel!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on assignment,” he replied evasively.

“No, you’re not. I sent you to—” She broke off and looked at him more closely. “You’re not the Castiel of this day.”

He chuckled wryly. “Depends on your definition, I suppose.” Then he sobered. “Anna, I have to ask your confidence. Don’t tell anyone you saw me. Especially Zachariah.”

She blinked. “Castiel... Zachariah’s dead.”

“Dead?!”

“Five years ago, he and Abaddon killed each other. I’m in command of the garrison now.”

He nodded slowly, assessing the new situation. Anna was more trustworthy than Zachariah or Uriel, certainly, and with Abaddon dead, the bunker was even less of a target. “What of the Winchesters?”

“No one knows. They’ve disappeared. Megara might be looking, but I’m not even sure she’s out of Hell yet. She was with Abaddon when the fight with Zachariah happened, and I can’t imagine Hell’s rulers being very happy that she let Abaddon die.”

“And the Campbells?”

“Ed’s about to drink himself to death, but other than that, they seem to be well. No one’s heard from Mary.”

Castiel nodded again and made up his mind. “Thank you. Again, I ask your confidence. Goodbye, Anna.”

“Wait, brother....”

But Castiel didn’t wait to listen. Instead, he flew straight to Mary and said, “We need to leave, now.”

As it happened, Dean had just fallen and scraped his elbow, so he was almost back to Mary’s side anyway. Mary put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and nodded to Castiel, and he took them straight back to the bunker before Anna could spot them.

While Mary patched up Dean’s scrape, Castiel sat with the men at the map table and explained what had happened, even falling into the very human posture of sitting slumped forward with his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed at the end. “I want to trust Anna, but until we’re out of danger, I _can’t_. If she’s in command of the garrison, I don’t know if she’ll have taken over where Zachariah left off or whether she’d deem it best for the child to die now. I can’t take Mary back to Salina, but should we find another doctor elsewhere, or....”

John’s hand came down on his shoulder, cutting him off. “I think we already have one.”

Castiel looked up at him in alarm. “John, I’m not a healer.”

“No, but you’re doing a damn good job of keeping Mary and the baby healthy so far. I don’t want her or Dean leaving this bunker again until we’re absolutely sure it’s safe. So until then, I’m counting on you to keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

“What if it isn’t enough?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“This is for your safety, too, Cas,” Henry noted. “If Anna does alert the garrison to be on the lookout for you, even as hidden as you are, the likelihood of another accident increases.”

Feeling horribly out of his depth but knowing Henry was right, Castiel sighed. “All right.”

And for most of the rest of the pregnancy, the decision seemed wise. Dean wasn’t happy about being cooped up in the bunker, but the adults did their best to keep him challenged with books and projects and helping Mary prepare a room for Sam’s arrival. Mary did have a few relatively minor complications, but Castiel learned enough from John and Henry to figure out how to heal them. And Sam grew and thrived exactly as he should, delighting in Castiel’s company much as Dean had done in the womb. Everything seemed to be going well as Mary reached the stage of Braxton-Hicks contractions helping her and Sam prepare for his eventual arrival.

But when the morning of May 2 dawned, Castiel had the overwhelming sense that something was about to go terribly wrong. After watching Mary anxiously for about half an hour, he decided to act on that sense. It took him a moment’s searching to find a good hospital that wasn’t too far, too close, too obvious, or too dangerous in other ways, but when he did, he flew to it and triple-checked its personnel and its surroundings for other angels or demons. Finding none, he warded it thoroughly—and called for help.

He didn’t think he’d been gone long. Yet when he returned, Mary was screaming in agony, and from her side, John turned to him in anger and fear. “Cas, where’ve you _been?_ ” he demanded. “She’s _bleeding_.”

Castiel turned to Henry, who was holding a terrified Dean. “Barnes Jewish Hospital, St. Louis.”

Henry nodded. “We’ll meet you.”

Castiel nodded back and flew John and Mary straight to the emergency room. The nurses took one look at the human couple and flew into action, calling for a doctor and an operating room. Getting John to relinquish Mary to their care was something of a struggle, but Castiel soon convinced him that the place was safe. Mary was so afraid and in pain, however, that she fought the anesthetic even as the medical staff prepared to take her to the operating room.

Even from where he sat making John do the paperwork, Castiel was aware of the doctor calling the staff to a pause and gently taking Mary’s hand. “As surely as the Lord lives, Mary Campbell Winchester,” the doctor said quietly, “I will not let you die.”

Mary accepted the assurance for what it was and let the anesthetic do its work, aided by the touch of power the doctor brushed against her temple. Then the medical team whisked her off to the OR, and Castiel and John were left to wait.

And wait.

And _wait_.

Several hours passed before the doctor, looking weary and bloodied, finally came back to the waiting room. “John Winchester?”

John shot to his feet. “What happened? How are they?”

“First things first. Your son is fine, and your wife will recover.”

“Recover? What the hell are you talking about?”

The doctor opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a page. He shot an annoyed look at the intercom... and sent the illusion he’d been wearing off to answer the page by itself, revealing his vessel’s true form. Scowling, John reached for his gun.

Castiel caught his arm. “ _John_. This is my brother Gabriel.”

“Your—” John did a double-take as the name’s significance registered, and he stared wide-eyed at Gabriel.

Gabriel held up both hands to forestall any questions. “Let me explain what happened.”

“I’m all ears,” John replied.

“Mary had a placental abruption. We had to do an emergency C-section. Now, that part of it went fine, thanks to Castiel getting you here right away; we got the baby out whole and healthy. He’s full term, shouldn’t have any residual problems as a result of all this. Then we cleared out the placenta. I looked away from Mary for _two seconds_... and by the time I looked back, there was a golf-ball-sized tumor on the back wall of her uterus.”

John gasped.

“I don’t know where the cancer had been hiding, but once that oxygen hit it, it started spreading like wildfire. Fortunately, she was already opened up, and we were able to get the uterus out before the cancer could metastasize. She lost a lot of blood, though—had to give her three units just to get her stable.”

John sat down hard.

“But John, she _is_ stable. She’s in the recovery room right now. Barring further complications, she should make a full recovery. You just... won’t be having any more kids after this one.”

“Wh-why didn’t you....”

Gabriel spread his hands. “I’m not a healer. Had to swipe all the know-how from the doctor I’m replacing for the day, actually. And like I said, I don’t have a clue where that cancer came from. Besides, doing it this way keeps everybody off the radar, myself included.”

John ran a shaking hand over his mouth. “When can I see them?”

“It’ll be an hour or so yet before you can go in to see Mary. But the baby’s in the nursery. I can take you to see him now.”

John took a deep breath, nodded, and stood. “That’d be good. Thanks.”

Gabriel led John and Castiel to an elevator, through several halls, and to the nursery window. Sam’s warming crib was close to the window, and the poor boy was crying in fear and confusion, being in such a strange state so far from everyone and everything he knew.

Castiel put his hand to the glass. _We’re here, little one_ , he thought.

 _Cas!_ Sam thought back, quieting some. _Daddy Mommy Grandpa Dean?_

_Your father’s right here. Your mother will be all right. Grandpa and Dean are coming._

The nurse picked Sam up to show him to John, and Sam blinked. _Daddy?_

As if in answer, John put one hand to the window and ran the other over his mouth as he tried not to weep in relief. Castiel squeezed John’s shoulder.

“AaaAAAaaah!” Sam cried. _Want Daddy!_

 _Patience_ , Castiel replied. _He’ll get to hold you soon._

“Do you have a name for him?” the nurse asked John.

“Yeah,” John replied, his voice rough with emotion. “Sammy—S-Samuel Henry.”

Castiel smiled at that. “He’ll be honored.”

Sam made another unhappy noise. _Want Daddy._

 _Soon, Sam_ , was all Castiel could reply. _Soon._

Just then John was paged to take a call from Henry at the nurses’ station. Castiel hung back to keep Sam company while Gabriel went with John. After giving Henry a brief update and finding out that he and Dean were still about four hours away, John came back to the nursery window to say goodbye to Sam for the moment. Then Gabriel and Castiel took John down to the cafeteria and made sure he ate some lunch. By the time he’d finished, Mary was well enough recovered that John was allowed in to see her. Gabriel and Castiel hid themselves and followed, waiting just inside the door while John clung to Mary and finally let himself break down.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Castiel whispered for Gabriel’s ears alone.

Gabriel huffed. “You’re telling me. At least this time, cutting her open _saved_ her life.”

“Gabriel, I don’t understand. There hadn’t been any cancer in the other timeline.”

“I know. I don’t get it, either, and I don’t know why the muttonheads came early. That much, I’m guessing, was Dad’s doing, but Mary... I dunno, almost seems like—”

The angels looked at each other as the same thought occurred to them at the same time, then stepped out into the hall to find another figure there, a white-robed blonde who’d been hidden even from their sight up to now.

“Atropos,” they growled in unison.

The Fate held up both hands, empty, palms out. “Take it easy, Loki. I’m not here to cut anyone’s thread, I promise.”

“Then what _are_ you doing here?” Gabriel demanded.

“Look, whatever Yahweh’s doing with the Winchesters in terms of timing and who lives and who dies is none of my concern at this point. I’m just here to make sure John and Mary have only two children, no more, no less. That much is fated. I don’t care about the rest.”

Gabriel sighed.

Castiel frowned. “Does anyone else know we’re here, aside from your sisters?”

Atropos shook her head. “No. Well, Chronos might, but I don’t think he’s in this year right now. But before you get any bright ideas, Castiel, I give you my solemn word that neither Heaven nor Hell will hear anything from us—and besides, not even _you_ can kill Fate.” And with that, she left.

With a grimace, Gabriel slammed a hand against a wall and added more wards to lock out any other inquiring gods and goddesses.

“We should leave,” Castiel said.

Gabriel shook his head. “No, no dice. It’ll be at least a week before the hospital will even think about letting Mary go. We can speed her healing, but anything more than that will raise way too many questions. Besides, Atropos never lies. If she says no one knows, then no one knows.”

Castiel sighed heavily.

“Hey.” Gabriel put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You’ve done a damn good job so far keeping them safe. The hospital’s sealed up tighter than a drum. We’re still off the Host’s radar. We can keep them under cover for a week.”

“We?”

Gabriel shrugged dismissively and dropped his hand. “Eh. I got nothin’ else going on.”

“Gabriel... thank you.”

Gabriel shrugged again and ducked his head a little.

The next few hours passed quickly from an angelic perspective. Mary was moved to a private room before Henry and Dean arrived, and Gabriel performed some sleight of hand to ensure that the entire family would be allowed to stay with her. The only exception was Sam, who could be in the room while Mary was awake but had to stay in the nursery overnight so that his cries wouldn’t disturb Mary’s rest. Sam was decidedly unhappy about that, but there was nothing the angels could do.

Nonetheless, once the other Winchesters were soundly asleep that night, Castiel decided to go to the nursery and check on Sam. He arrived just in time to see Gabriel, cradling Sam in one arm, slide the nipple of a bottle into the babe’s mouth.

Sam made a small contented noise as he started to suckle. _Yay, good, thanks. Bright good happy help saved thank you yes love love love._

“Ahhh,” Gabriel deflected, but Castiel could hear his wings ruffling in embarrassment. “Shucks, kid, weren’t nothin’.”

“You’re fond of him,” Castiel observed quietly.

Gabriel shrugged his free shoulder but didn’t look away from Sam. “He’s a cute kid. And Dean’s not bad.”

Sam was highly amused.

Castiel walked over and gently ran a hand over the top of Sam’s downy head. “Hello, Sam.”

 _Cas_ , Sam thought back. _Happy bright good safe love._

Castiel didn’t really know what to reply to that, so he kept gently rubbing Sam’s head until the boy had drunk his fill and released the bottle with a wide yawn. Gabriel burped him carefully, and within seconds, Sam was asleep again, still resting on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Come back with us, brother,” Castiel said.

Gabriel sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

He thought about it all the more when they got back to Mary’s room to find that Dean had crawled into bed with his mother and was asleep in her arms with his ear over her heart. A nurse had come in to check Mary’s vital signs, however, and was just about to wake Dean and move him.

“Hey,” Gabriel said quietly, getting the nurse’s attention but not disturbing the rest of the family. “Leave him be, huh? Poor kid almost lost his mother today.”

The nurse looked uncertain. “He’s really not supposed....”

“Ah, come on, what harm can he do? Look.” Gabriel pointed to a pillow shielding Mary’s incision from Dean’s knees that... might or might not have been present before he pointed to it.

The nurse wavered more. “Well....”

“He’s _four years old_. C’mon, have a heart, huh?”

She sighed. “Oh, all right, if... if you’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt her.”

Gabriel held up two fingers at shoulder height. “Scout’s honor.”

The nurse nodded, shot Dean a pitying look, and read the vital signs without waking Mary. As she left, though, Castiel gave Gabriel a long assessing look.

And Gabriel actually flushed a little under the scrutiny. “Shut up,” he grumbled once the door was closed.

“Scout’s honor?” Castiel asked.

“It’s a Boy Scout—look, watch the door, will you? Swear I’m getting soft in my old age,” he added under his breath as he stomped over to the window.

Castiel resolutely did not chuckle.

A week was only an instant from an angelic perspective, yet it was time enough for both Dean and Sam to worm their way firmly into Gabriel’s affections. The clincher seemed to be when Dean, being bored, convinced Gabriel to take him around to the children’s wing so he could make friends with the other kids who were sick. For his own part, Castiel found himself marveling often at Sam, whose innocent soul shone with the beauty of faith and hope Castiel kicked himself for having been unable to see past the demon blood and Ruby’s influence. He knew now that he’d done the right thing in bringing Sam this far, and he was more determined than ever to keep this precious child safe from those who plotted his destruction.

At last, however, the week was over, and Mary was indeed well enough to return home. Gabriel took charge of her wheelchair as John led the family out to the parking garage, and he lingered while John settled Mary in the front seat and Henry settled Sam in the car seat in the back. Then John got in the driver’s seat, and Henry and Dean took the remaining spaces in the back. And still Gabriel hesitated.

“Well, brother?” Castiel asked. “Are you coming?”

Sam and Dean looked up at him pleadingly.

Gabriel held out another fifteen seconds before caving. “Oh, _fine_ ,” he sighed and snapped his fingers to return the wheelchair to the front desk.

Dean cheered and scrambled over into Henry’s lap to let Gabriel get in beside him. Castiel slid in next to Mary, and once the doors were closed, Castiel laid a hand on the dashboard to take the car and all its occupants directly to the bunker’s garage.

* * *

The next six months were a trial, even with Gabriel there to help entertain Dean and ferry Mary back and forth to her doctor’s appointments. Mary’s recovery took three months, which meant the men and the angels had to take up quite a lot of slack in terms of housework and looking after the boys. Sam wasn’t really old enough to cause much mischief, but even though John and Henry tried to keep Dean occupied with lessons and projects and games, he still grew bored and restless. Gabriel finally had to turn an empty storeroom into a makeshift Holodeck (well, that was what Dean called it; Castiel had never quite understood _Star Trek_ ) just to give Dean an outlet and a change of scenery.

On the night of November 2, however, the family went even further into lockdown mode than they already had been. Just to make absolutely certain that nothing had been able to track Sam down and breach the bunker’s wards, John and Gabriel stationed themselves in Sam’s room, Castiel and Henry in the hall, and Dean with Mary. Dean fell asleep, naturally, but he and Mary still took comfort from being able to keep an eye on each other. Still, all through the long night, men and angels watched and waited.

Yet all was quiet. Nothing stirred in the bunker, outside the bunker, or in the town—no demons, no hellhounds, no angels. Castiel even made a quick patrol around Lebanon before first light, but he encountered no threats.

At sunrise, while Mary made coffee, Castiel came to John and said, “I think we should go into town today.”

John blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“There are three houses for sale. I thought perhaps... one for your family, one for Henry, and one for Gabriel and me.”

There was a stunned silence before John, sounding very young indeed, asked, “It’s... it’s _over?_ ”

Castiel nodded. “It’s over. Sam’s blood can’t be corrupted anymore. We’re safe.”

And suddenly, much to his surprise, Castiel found John pulling him into a crushing hug and sobbing gratefully into his shoulder.


	6. Celebration

When Megara finally clawed her way out of Hell at the end of May of 1979, she found Uriel waiting for her with a meatsuit. She flowed into the girl, bound her consciousness, and shook off Uriel’s hands. 

“About time,” Uriel said.

“Can it, Smitey-pants,” Megara snarled. “What do you want?”

“For you to take up where your father left off. Find Lucifer’s chosen child.”

“And how the _hell_ am I supposed to do that?!”

“I believe I may have a clue. Anna has had the garrison searching for an alternate version of Castiel, one who may have appeared at the time Azazel was killed. She saw him last in Salina, Kansas. She wants nothing more than to learn what his errand might be and why he’s keeping it secret from the Host. But I believe it has to do with Lucifer’s plan.”

“So what?”

“Samandiriel was searching in St. Louis on the second of May when Barnes Jewish Hospital went off the air.”

She frowned. “How do you mean?”

He shrugged. “No communication, with Heaven _or_ Hell. Samandiriel reports that he went to investigate and found the place warded more tightly than anything he’d ever seen before. And it stayed that way for a week. Nothing supernatural could get in... but he did see someone coming out.”

“Who?”

“Atropos.” He folded his arms with an air of satisfaction.

She blinked several times. “Why the hell would the Fates be involved with something like that personally?”

“I don’t know. But I expect you to find out. One of the humans must have seen something. Do whatever you must, but find out what happened in that hospital.”

“Why should I?”

His lip curled. “It pains me to say this, _demon_ , but for the moment, we are on the same side. We are working for a common cause: Lucifer’s victory. I can keep the garrison looking in the wrong direction for the time being. But this is the only help you’ll get from me until my brother’s release. Make use of it while you can.”

She snarled, but before she could come up with a further response, he vanished.

Much as she hated to admit it, though, the feathered freak was right. She did want to finish her father’s work, which would not only get her back in Lilith’s good graces but also set the stage for Lord Lucifer to rule Earth. And if this was the only lead she was going to get, she ought to follow up on it. So with a sigh, she took off for St. Louis and hunted around the bars near Barnes Jewish. It was a cinch that if enough people had seen something strange enough to warrant that level of warding, at least one person would seek to drown the memories in alcohol... and _in vino veritas_.

Sure enough, after a few hours of making the rounds, she heard a slightly inebriated female voice declare loudly, “I’m not making it up! It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen!”

It took Megara a moment to locate the voice’s owner, a nurse whose companions were giving her a terrible time over whatever story she’d just told. Knowing her cue when she saw it, Megara sauntered over to the nurse. “Hey. These yahoos giving you trouble?”

The nurse sniffled. “I saw it. I _saw_ it. An’ nobody believes me.”

“Hell, I’ve got an open mind. C’mere. I’ll buy you another drink, and you can tell me all about it.”

The nurse sniffled again. “’Kay. Thanks... uh... wasyour name?”

“Meg.”

“Nice to meetcha, Meg. I’m Allie.”

After a little more trading of insults with the group Allie was with, Megara—who actually kind of liked the sound of Meg and decided to keep the shortened name—finally got her over to the bar and lubricated with another Cosmopolitan. “So,” Meg prompted then, “this weird thing you saw.”

“I was checkin’ on this patient. She had a... ’mergency hysterectomy after a Caesarean. Her whole fam’ly was with her, which was weird ’nuff, y’know, ’cause they don’... norm’ly let the husban’ an’ the father-in-law _an’_ the kid _an’_ the... whoever th’other guy was all sleep in one room, y’know? W’ll, anyway, I walk in there, an’ the kid’s watchin’ TV with another nurse—I never seen this guy b’fore in my life. Anyway, kid’s complainin’ that all there is to watch is reruns an’ he’s seen every episode o’ _Star Trek_ a hunnerd times. An’ th’other nurse says okay, maybe he can do somethin’ ’bout that.” Allie frowned a little. “Kid was, Iunno, maybe four years ol’. Dunno how he coulda seen s’much _Star Trek_.”

“So what was weird?”

Allie leaned forward. “I come back the next time, an’ the kid was watchin’ _Star Trek_ , all right, ’cause they had the li’l swoopy badges on—but that wa’n’ no _Star Trek_ show _I_ ever seen. There was a diff’r’nt captain an’ a guy with silver skin an’ a guy with no eyes, I think was Kunta Kinte.”

Meg blinked. She hadn’t paid much attention to television in quite a while, but she’d never heard of LeVar Burton having anything to do with _Star Trek_.

“An’ that ain’ all.”

Meg ordered Allie another Cosmo.

“Y’know th’other guy, the one in the trench? Called ’im C’lumbo, ’cause he never took it off.” Allie giggled and snorted and took a swig of her drink.

Meg didn’t recognize the description at first, but then she remembered that the angel who’d helped the Winchesters escape had been wearing a trench coat. Could it be? “What about him?”

“He was talkin’ to the baby like he could read his mind!” Allie guffawed and knocked back the rest of her drink. Then she frowned suddenly. “Hey. Mebbe tha’s it. Mebbe he c’n... read minds an’... erase memories.” She looked at Meg in horror.

Meg shifted. “What memories?”

Allie leaned forward again, wide-eyed, her voice low. “This lady, she had a... hysterectomy.”

“You told me.”

“It wa’n’t a normal one. One o’ my friends, she works obstetrics OR, an’ she said... was the weirdes’ cancer ever, jus’... came outta nowhere. Shoulda been _all over_ the news. But it wa’n’t.” Allie leaned so close, her forehead was almost touching Meg’s. “An’ the next day, _nobody remembered it_.”

Meg frowned. If Atropos had been trying to pull a fast one on an angel, or more than one if Castiel had had help from the mystery nurse, she might have conjured up something that bizarre—granted, the Fate’s style tended more toward the gruesome Rube Goldberg-esque death, but maybe she didn’t actually want the woman to die.

Allie blinked rapidly. “I wonder if the doctor was in on it.”

“The doctor?”

Allie nodded, narrowly missing knocking her head against Meg’s. “Yeah. My frien’ said he said somethin’, ’fore they lef’ the ER... ‘As surely as the Lor’ lives, Mary Campbell Winches’er, I will not let you die.’” She searched Meg’s eyes for answers, her own fearful and confused.

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

Allie shook her head. “Nobody b’lieves me.”

Meg decided to play a card she’d seen hunters use in the past. “Listen. I think I can help you.” And she pulled a fake FBI badge out of her pocket.

Allie gasped.

“Did you leave a purse or anything back with your friends?”

Allie shook her head. “Wa’n’ gonn’ drive... di’n’ bring more’n m’ house keys an’ m’ hospital ID.”

“All right. Let’s get out of here. I can arrange protective custody and get more of your story in the morning.”

Bursting into tears, Allie let Meg lead her out behind the bar. But she stopped short, confused, when there was no car in sight. “Wasgoin’ on?” she asked.

“Oh, just... one last little precaution I need to take.” Meg grabbed Allie’s shirt and pushed her against the wall beside the dumpster, pressing her borrowed body up against the nurse’s.

“P-p-please... please don’ hur’ me....”

“No,” Meg purred, letting her eyes go black. “I’m gonna take _real_ good care of you.” And while Allie was still gasping in terror, Meg shoved her smoke down Allie’s throat, leaving her angel-picked meatsuit behind.

Said meatsuit dropped her hands and stumbled backward. “Please... please don’t—”

“Sorry, kid,” Meg stated, picking up the knife and bowl she’d hidden behind the dumpster. “No loose ends.” With that, she slit the girl’s throat, rifled through Allie’s memories to confirm her suspicions, and called home.

 _I trust this is good news, pet_ , Alastair answered.

“The best,” Meg replied. “I have a line on the Winchesters.”

 _Do you indeed?_ Excellent. _Tell me._

She passed on everything Allie had told her and some things that Allie hadn’t known, such as the warding and the identity of Castiel’s helper.

But Alastair wasn’t as pleased as she had hoped. In fact, she could almost hear him frown. _No, no, no, none of this conforms to Lord Lucifer’s plan. And if Loki_ is _involved, the woman’s memories are most untrustworthy. Use her to gain entrance to the hospital, and search for Mary Winchester’s records._

“And if I don’t find them?”

_Go back to Lawrence. Search high and low until you find some means of discerning where the Winchesters have gone. But dearest... make haste. If in fact Sam Winchester has been born, the window of our opportunity grows small._

Meg nodded. “Understood.”

 _I don’t need to tell you how rich your reward will be if you succeed. Nor need I stress how..._ disappointed _I shall be if you should fail. Do I, poppet?_

Meg gulped. “No, my lord.”

 _Good. I shall be waiting._ And Alastair ended the call.

Allie was incoherent with terror and kept trying to convince herself she was dreaming as Meg used her ID to gain access to the hospital and her body to have some fun with a night watchman to get into the records room—fun that ended with snapping his neck and pushing his body down the stairs to ensure his silence. Meg ignored her and focused on finding any trace of Mary Winchester. But the records folder was gone, and even the security camera tapes from the week of May 2-8 had been erased. Nor was there physical evidence to go on; anything that might have touched Mary’s blood or that of her son had already been destroyed, disposed of, cleaned thoroughly, and/or used by enough other people to be contaminated beyond demonic use. Meg growled and left.

Morning found her attempting to set up shop in Lawrence. But the town had changed too much over the last six years for progress to be swift. Many of John and Mary’s friends had moved away, and the few who hadn’t, like Mike Guenther, hadn’t seen or heard from either John or Mary since their disappearance. One of Mary’s friends suggested trying the safe house where Meg and Abaddon had cornered the Winchesters before, but Meg arrived to find it abandoned and in even worse shape than it had been when Abaddon finished with it. The Campbells clearly hadn’t been back since, and neither had the Winchesters.

That thought, however, gave Meg an idea, so she hopped over to Greenville, IL, to pay a call on an old friend. And much to her delight, she was greeted by the sour smell of despairing alcoholic. She sauntered into the kitchen to find her mark sitting at the table and contemplating whether to have some Wheaties with his whiskey or just skip food altogether this day. Perfect.

“Howdy, Ed,” she drawled. “Long time, no see.”

“Go to hell,” Ed shot back dully without even looking up at her.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Eddie. I just came from there. And I couldn’t very well not come say hello—we’ve got a lot in common, you know. You lost two brothers the same time I lost my father and my big sister.”

That hit home, and he looked up at her, wide-eyed. “ _Megara._ ”

“And we’re both worried about that precious little niece of yours.” She slid his chair back far enough that she could sit down straddling his lap. “So why don’t you be a good boy and help me find her?”

“Hell, no.”

“I could make it worth your while.”

“You’ve got nothing I want.”

“Yes, I do.” She leaned closer, running a finger down his chest. “You help me, and I’ll kill you quickly.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll kill you slowly—it might take, oh, ten, twenty years.” She let her eyes go black. “Depends on how much fun I want to have, ’cause I would _love_ to hear you scream.”

Even this ex-sergeant major and seasoned hunter felt fear at the prospect of prolonged, creative torture. She could smell it on him, as surely as she felt his heart start racing.

She slid her arms around his neck. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” Ed breathed.

She kissed him far more deeply than he was expecting and reveled in his revulsion and Allie’s disgust. Then she locked Allie away before continuing. “Now. My orders were to begin in Lawrence, but all I hit were dead ends.”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. Wherever they are, they’re not in Lawrence. The angel covered his tracks too well for that.”

“He’s been seen in St. Louis and Salina. I checked St. Louis, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.”

“Really.”

“She’s the only one Castiel and Loki missed in their cover-up. But she saw them both.”

“Did it ever occur to you that she might have been left as a trap?”

Her lip curled. “I can start on you right here.”

He sighed. “All right, all right. I can get us some papers that will open the right doors in Salina.”

She smiled and toyed with his ear. “Excellent.”

“Th-there’s... one... other....”

“I’m listening,” she breathed in his other ear.

He took a ragged breath. “There’s one true psychic in Lawrence. I—I don’t know if she can help us, if....” He broke off with a gulp. “I-I don’t—Megara, I—”

“What’s her name?”

“Please, I can’t....” A tear trickled down his cheek. But Meg knew exactly what buttons to push on a man without actually hurting him, and she pushed Ed’s with surgical precision until his pleas for her to stop finally gave way to, “Missouri! M-Missouri Mosely!”

She kissed him again and ran her fingers through his hair as he struggled for breath. “There, now, was that so hard?” Then she pinched his cheek and stood. “Come on, get yourself sober and dressed. We’ve got work to do. And Ed?” She dangled his anti-possession charm in front of him, letting him see where she’d broken the chain without touching the pendant. “You get any bright ideas, and I _will_ possess you again.”

Sobbing, Ed dragged himself upstairs to the shower. But she didn’t feel the need to follow. She knew he’d comply—he had nothing left to lose, and after all, they did have a deal.

Even with Ed’s help, however, the investigation went nowhere. Ed had a police artist friend draw up sketches of Castiel and Loki, but no one in Salina remembered having seen them, even at the office of the best obstetrician in town where months of records had vanished. Nor could the Campbells’ hunting connections give them more than rumored sightings around the world of Castiel with a small child and a man who might or might not have been Henry Winchester. And Missouri Mosely either would not or could not help them, claiming every time they asked that she hadn’t gotten a clear reading on anyone who wasn’t in the immediate vicinity in years.

The confused web of rabbit trails and red herrings kept Meg away from Lawrence from August to the early part of November. Finally, on the morning of November 3, she left Ed in Greenville and went back to Missouri’s house—to find the young woman laughing, crying, whooping, dancing, and shouting glory. Annoyed at this display of joy, Meg blew the door open and stormed in with a sharp “Missouri!”

But Missouri only laughed the harder. “Glory! Glory, hallelujah, the veil has been _lifted!_ And child, you failed. Do you hear me? You _failed!_ You take that back to your masters in Hell! Your plan for Sammy Winchester HAS _FAILED!_ ” And before Meg could figure out how to react, Missouri began the Latin exorcism, speaking so fast it almost sounded like she was praying in tongues.

Meg lunged for the psychic, only to bounce off the edge of a devil’s trap that hadn’t been present the last time she’d been there. And as the exorcism ripped her from her host and forced her back to what promised to be a long stint in the Pit, she cursed the day she’d ever laid eyes on Uriel.

* * *

Meanwhile, across town, Millie Hardesty’s phone rang. And when she answered, she got the shock of a lifetime:

“Mom?”

She gasped loudly. “ _Johnny?!_ ”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s me.” He sounded older, maybe a little rougher, but that was her baby boy’s voice.

She burst into tears. “I never thought I’d hear your voice again!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “Look, I know we’ve got a lot to catch up on, but the reason I’m calling is, I just put an offer on a house here in Lebanon.”

“Lebanon? Kansas?”

“Yes, ma’am. Think we’ve got a good chance of getting it; market’s pretty slow right now, and the owners want to be out by the holidays. So I, um... was wondering if... if you’d want to come out for Thanksgiving. See Pops, meet the boys.”

She gasped again, more quietly. “You have sons?”

“Yeah, two of ’em, Sammy and Dean... Dean Miles, for you and Deanna Campbell.” She could hear his smile. “You’ll be real proud of ’em, Mom. They’re the best, the brightest—heck, I don’t even know all the right words.”

“And how’s Mary?”

“She’s fine. We’ve been married six, six and a half years now. We—we had a real scare, few months back, when Sammy was born. Almost lost her. But... everything’s copacetic now. She’s doing great.”

Millie clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the audible sobs that threatened to spill out with the tears streaming down her cheeks. She truly hadn’t thought that she would live to see this day, and part of her feared that even if she were well enough to travel at Thanksgiving, which was by no means a given, she’d only ruin the gathering with her own bad news. And she didn’t know how she felt about seeing Henry after all these years. But then... could she really pass up what might be her one and only chance to see her grandchildren, her last chance to hug her son and daughter-in-law?

“Mom?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, angel, I’ll come.”

* * *

The first months out of the bunker were bittersweet. The Letters’ ample funds were more than enough to buy and furnish all three houses and an engine repair shop for John. Henry went in with him as his business manager, and they agreed to put the Aquarian Star and certain other signs in the logo and use the shop as a front for rebuilding the Letters’ presence in the hunting world. They were indeed all settled by Thanksgiving, and Millie did come out to spend the weekend with John and Mary and the boys. But though she hid it well from Dean and Sammy was too little to notice, Henry could tell that she wasn’t feeling well, and she finally confessed to the adults that she was terminally ill. She didn’t go into specifics, but she declined Cas’ offer of healing, declaring that she was ready to go when the time came. John and Mary took the boys to see her again before Christmas, but by New Year’s, she was gone.

That was an exceptionally hard Christmas for Mary, not only seeing Lawrence again and knowing that they were about to lose Millie but also learning that both of her uncles were dead, Robert at Abaddon’s hand, Ed at his own in remorse over having stooped to helping a demon. She and John did meet and find a staunch friend in Missouri Mosely, however, who had nothing but good to say about the boys and assured Mary that they were indeed in the clear.

Nor was Missouri the only new friend of the family. Not long before Valentine’s Day, Winchester & Son received a call from Singer Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls. “ _Real_ interestin’ logo you got there, Mr. Winchester,” Mr. Singer drawled in a way that made it obvious that he knew exactly what it meant. “I’m headed down your way here in a couple weeks. What would you say to meetin’ me an’ my partner for lunch to... _discuss business_?”

“We are certainly open to expanding our clientele, and our list of parts suppliers,” John replied into the speakerphone with an equally knowing tone. “And depending on the nature of the business and the nature of the weather, my wife makes the best soups in town—she is, after all, a Campbell.”

Henry could almost hear Mr. Singer’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that a fact? Well, then, I think we can iron something out—any Campbell worth her salt _would_ be a good cook.”

“When shall I tell her to get out her very best silver?”

Mr. Singer chuckled. “How’s Monday, March 3, sound?”

“Sounds just about perfect.”

“Good deal. Oh, and by all that’s holy, water to drink.”

“Understood,” father and son chorused, sharing a smile.

And when, on March 3, John met Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner at the door with a shot of holy water apiece, Henry knew he’d not only begun to re-establish the Letters’ hunting network but also made two friends for life.

There would be others, too—some, like Gordon Walker, only confirmed Henry’s general opinion of hunters, but some of the better ones included Bill Harvelle, who ran a bar in Nebraska, and Jim Murphy, one of John’s war buddies who’d turned not only preacher but also hunter. The more hunters John befriended, the more he became drawn to that side of the business. While he usually turned down invitations to join a hunt for legitimate family reasons, Henry and Mary both suspected that his resolve wouldn’t hold out forever. And eventually a request arrived that John couldn’t turn down, an urgent hunt Bill knew would be a two-man job but for which he genuinely couldn’t find another partner.

“People are dying, Mary,” John told her quietly as he prepared to leave with Bill.

Mary laughed bitterly. “People are always dying.”

“Look, even if I don’t come out of this thing scarred for life, even if I _like_ it... it’s not like I’ve forgotten what happened to your mom and dad, how we got into this mess. I have no intention of abandoning the family. I just... need to make sure Bill gets back to his.”

She sighed. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” he answered and kissed her.

He was, did get Bill home safely, and reported that the hunt wouldn’t gone half as smoothly if he hadn’t gone in armed with both Letters and hunting training. He was also convinced that he had something to offer on hunts that were at least a Class 2, much to Mary’s distress. They fought over it, and to help them settle the matter, Henry had to call in opinions from their most trusted hunter friends and the angels. (Gabriel said, “You think _our_ family’s the picture of health?” but Cas shushed him.) By their second Thanksgiving in the house, however, Bobby had begun establishing himself as the hunters’ dispatch hub and got John to agree to accept only cases cleared by him for which either Letters expertise was needed on scene or no other hunter was available. Mary still wasn’t totally happy, and neither was Henry, but John would accept no other compromise.

As for the boys, well, they were a healthy, happy double handful. Dean adjusted rather better to living above ground in a house with a yard where he could run and play in good weather than he did to the idea that he couldn’t tell the neighbors everything about his family. He thrived as a homeschooler, though, and began making friends with the neighborhood kids once spring rolled around and tee-ball started up. Sammy, meanwhile, was turning out to be brilliant, curious, and very strong-willed. The house admittedly had fewer hazards than the bunker did, but even the thorough baby-proofing John and Mary did wasn’t able to stop Sammy from prying off outlet covers, poking at gadgets until they did something, and (once) destroying a roll of film by taking it apart. The Saturday morning Henry came over to find Mary on the couch clutching her head while Sammy used her pots and pans for a drum kit in the kitchen to accompany his loud, tuneless singing and Dean raced through the house yelling “Mom, Mom, I wanna go see Aunt Dorothy!” made him glad not only that he was there to take them off her hands for a few hours... but also that he was only their grandfather and could give them back at the end of the day.

For his own part, Henry found having a whole house to himself more of an adjustment than he’d anticipated. The kids were still close by, of course, as were the angels, who came over often to continue their habit of sitting and talking for hours. Gabriel was more inclined to tell funny stories than to pass on lore, but Henry recorded even those—no telling what future Letters might get bored on bunker duty and need the diversion of _Loki’s Greatest Pranks_. And it was nearly impossible to remain isolated for long in such a small community, especially as a businessman. Still, it was... not hard, exactly, but odd to get used to living alone after all this time. On the other hand, though, it gave him the time and space to go back to the bunker every few weekends and finish the research he’d intended to do into the Letters’ history and secrets. Some surprised him; some disappointed him. But all made him glad he had survived to usher in a new generation of Letters.

There was only one end that he felt was left too loose. And the chance to tie it up came when, toward the end of April of 1981, Henry glanced away from Dean’s tee-ball game as the teams were switching in the middle of the ninth inning and saw a familiar couple sitting alone further up in the stands. He knew everyone else’s attention would be on the field, since the visiting team was ahead by only one run. So when the wife got up to go to the concession stand, Henry gave his apologies to John and went up to sit by the husband.

“Hi, Larry,” he said quietly.

Larry gasped. “ _Henry!_ ”

“You’re looking well.”

Larry held up a hand, and Henry guided it to his face. Once he’d felt Henry’s features, Larry chuckled. “So are you.”

The first of Dean’s teammates to bat this inning hit a single.

Henry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Larry, tell me something. You’ve known we were in town for over a year—as small as Lebanon is, you _have_ to have known. Why haven’t you tried to contact me?”

Larry sighed. “I... I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t think it was safe.”

“Ah, just like you didn’t think I needed to know _why_ Cuthbert Sinclair was thrown out of the Letters?”

“It was none of your concern.”

The second batter singled.

Henry shook his head. “He was my mentor, my _friend_. When no one explained, I... I kept in touch with him. I had no idea he’d gone so far over the line. I mean, it’s not that I disagree; what he did was beyond the pale. I just wish someone had _warned_ me.”

Larry’s ruined eyes widened. “You’ve been to....”

“I’m not going to tell you how I found it, but yeah, the kids and I lived there for about six years. Found Dotty Baum, by the way. She’s safely back in Oz now.”

The third batter also singled.

“We shouldn’t be discussing this here,” Larry hissed.

Henry snorted. “Abaddon’s dead. Has been for eight years.”

“ _What?_ ”

“The bases are loaded,” the announcer stated for anyone who wasn’t paying attention. “Here comes Dean Winchester up to the plate. Will he be able to knock in a run?”

Dean squared up to the tee, got a line on the ball, pulled the bat back to his shoulder, and sent the ball sailing over the left field fence in fair territory—a grand slam. The crowd went wild, but soaring above the adult voices, Henry could clearly hear Sammy’s joyful squeal of “DEEEEEE!”

Then as Dean rounded the bases, someone put last winter’s smash hit by Kool & the Gang on the loudspeaker— _Celebrate good times, COME ON!_

“It’s a new era, my friend,” Henry said into Larry’s ear so as to be heard over the happy commotion. “Time to stop hiding and start living.” And with a friendly slap on Larry’s shoulder, he started down the bleachers to join his family’s jubilation.

The Beginning


End file.
